The Ploughman’s Lunch Page 4

  40. Exterior. City. Day.

  James’s car makes its way through the City.

  41. Exterior. M11. Day.

  An hour later. The M11. James’s car speeds away from us.

  42. Exterior. North Norfolk. Day.

  An hour and a half later. James drives along a country road.

  43. Exterior. The Barrington House. Day.

  A small boy, Tom, peers over a wall at James’s car as it sweeps into the drive.

  44. Interior. Library. Day.

  Five minutes later. The Barrington house. The library. James waits alone. The house stands in its own grounds—an old rectory, spacious, but not over-grand. Much charm. 19th and 20th Century oil paintings, a serious reader’s library. Pleasant disorder, but no squalor. There is one housekeeper.

  Somewhere in the house a phone rings. There are footsteps. James crosses to a window which faces out over the garden, which is large and well-kept. At some distance away a gardener is raking leaves. Another man comes and talks to him, and then disappears from sight. This is Matthew, Ann Barrington’s husband.

  The door opens slowly. Tom, the ten year old son of Matthew, stares at James.

  After a pause.

  JAMES. Hullo.

  TOM. Hullo.

  JAMES. I’m waiting for your mother.

  TOM. She said awfully sorry, make yourself comfortable, she won’t be long.

  JAMES. Thanks.

  TOM. Why not sit down and wait?

  JAMES. Ok, I will.

  TOM. She’s not my mother, anyway. My mother’s in Italy.

  JAMES. Oh, I see.

  TOM. Have you come to talk about me?

  JAMES. Not at all. History.

  At this Tom leaves the door and advances into the room.

  TOM. What period?

  JAMES. Suez. 1956.

  TOM. Do you want to hear my list of English Kings and Queens?

  JAMES. All right.

  TOM. It goes from Henry VIII.

  (In rapid monotone.)

  Henry VIII, Edward VI, Mary, Elizabeth I, James I, Charles I, Charles II, James II, William and Mary, Ann, George I, II, III and IV, Victoria, Edward VII, George V, Edward VIII, George VI, Elizabeth II.

  JAMES. What about the Cromwells?

  TOM. They don’t count.

  Ann Barrington comes in. Aged about fifty-five, very attractive still, and fit.

  ANN. Mr Penfield. I am sorry to have kept you.

  JAMES. It’s kind of you to see me.

  ANN. Tom, Daddy would like to see you in the garden. And will you ask Betty to bring us some coffee. And remember to say please.

  Tom leaves. They watch as he closes the door with exaggerated care.

  ANN. He’s a little unhappy. I hope he wasn’t a nuisance.

  JAMES. He was delightful.

  45. Interior. Study. Day.

  Ten minutes later. Ann sits behind her desk. James sits across from her. The housekeeper sets down a tray and leaves.

  Ann appraises James and deals with the coffee, and for the first time in the film we take a long, hard look at him too. The light flatters. The notebook at his side, his patience and deference, the well-cut suit . . . he is at least credible.

  ANN. My first husband worked for the BBC. I doubt if anyone there remembers him now, just another long dead diligent administrator. He would have been useful to them now, you know. He was involved in the fight to preserve the BBC’s independence during the Suez crisis—one of the few things he was passionate about. I became involved too. I started work on a book that would have been published on the tenth anniversary of Suez. Then he died, and I lost the will to write it. By the time I was over his death, other books had been published, and it wasn’t worth going on.

  JAMES. What a shame.

  ANN. It wasn’t much more than a pot boiler. Suez was very important for our generation. I didn’t want it to be forgotten. And that’s why I’d like to be able to help you. But really Mr Penfield, I looked through my notes before you came, they’re all very much out of date, there’s been so much published since. I don’t think I’m your man.

  JAMES (smiling, uncertain). Well, I am a great admirer of your work. I read your books on Chartism when I was still at school. I’m a journalist, not a historian. There are questions of method, and approach. I wondered . . .

  ANN. I see. Are you a socialist, Mr Penfield?

  JAMES. Yes.

  ANN. Good. Suez was a minefield for both Parties.

  46. Exterior. Garden. Day.

  The garden, same time. Tom wanders aimlessly near the house. He comes to one of the library windows and peers in.

  Unobserved, he watches Ann and James. Ann is speaking. James interrupts, Ann nods, James writes something down in his notebook.

  Tom hears his father in the distance calling his name. He leaves the window and runs.

  47. Interior. Conservatory. Day.

  Lunchtime. A table spread with white tablecloth, salads and wine. Set for two.

  ANN. My husband apologises for not joining us. He’s toeing Tom into town. It’s not too cold for you, Mr Penfield?

  JAMES. It’s fine, thank you.

  ANN. Since you are a friend of my daughter’s, I think I’m entitled to call you James, don’t you think?

  JAMES. Please do. I was beginning to wonder who this Mr Penfield was.

  ANN. And I’d like you to call me Ann.

  James raises his glass.

  JAMES. To Ann.

  ANN. To James. I remember what it was I was going to say. We were talking about forgetfulness. The Czech writer Kundera has one of his characters say that the struggle of man against tyranny is the struggle of memory against forgetting.

  JAMES. History books are first onto the bonfires.

  ANN. No. If we leave the remembering to historians then the struggle is already lost. Everyone must have a memory, everyone needs to be a historian. In this country, for example, we’re in danger of losing hard-won freedoms by dozing off in a perpetual present.

  James is uneasy, a little out of his depth.

  Here I am lecturing you. Have some pâté.

  JAMES. Thanks.

  A pause. Ann has already emptied her glass. James has hardly touched his. Ann refills her own. Then James, lightly, wanting to be back on familiar ground:

  So I can go ahead and be a historian without feeling like a poseur. I shall be fulfilling a citizen’s duty.

  ANN. If you like. But don’t be too modest, James. The citizen’s duty is to remember, not necessarily to write books. You are highly qualified. You’re a responsible journalist doing what sounds to me like a very demanding job. Every day you take decisions that depend on your sense of history. A genuine tyranny would have to get rid of people like you.

  JAMES. You’re kind to be so encouraging.

  ANN. I think you’ll do very well.

  She smiles and briefly touches James’s hand. James looks up, impassive.

  48. Exterior. Back gate to garden. Day.

  Ann and James are returning from an after-lunch walk. We have a glimpse of the landscape we will see more of on James’s return.

  As they talk they arrive through a back gate into the Barrington garden. A jet fighter races through the sky.

  ANN. I’ve met some of her colleagues. I’m afraid they struck me as rather empty people. Very ambitious, and charming too. But not serious. No politics.

  They walk on.

  I do worry about Susan. Have you known her long? She hasn’t mentioned you.

  JAMES. Actually, we’ve only just met. But we’re quite good friends.

  ANN. It’s a pity she couldn’t make it up here today.

  JAMES. Yes.

  ANN. She’ll be here next weekend. Why don’t you come too, James? I’ll show you the marshes properly. If you’re lucky you might even see the first of the geese arriving from Siberia.

  JAMES. Well, I’d hate to be a nuisance.

  ANN. Don’t be silly. I’ll look out some more Suez material fo
r you. You’ll be very welcome.

  49. Exterior. Front of house. Day.

  They come round the front of the house to James’s car. He opens the door and shakes Ann’s hand.

  JAMES. Thank you.

  ANN. We’ll see you next week, and if . . .

  Matthew’s car comes sweeping up the drive. Tom is in the front seat. Matthew stops his car so that his front door is by James’s.

  Matthew is fifty. A director of commercials for cinema and television. Breezy, chunky-faced, keen to be taken seriously. Essentially good-humoured.

  ANN. I wish you wouldn’t drive so fast, Mat, dearest.

  MATTHEW. I’ll get a bike. I promise. Hi! Just off?

  Matthew and James shake hands over the car doors.

  ANN. Matthew, my husband. James. James is coming to stay next weekend.

  MATTHEW. Very good. Well, I’ll see you then.

  He strides away with Tom.

  Come on, Tom. Let’s see if we can get this thing working.

  James pulls away. Ann stands watching him till he is out of sight, and a little longer after that.

  50. Exterior. A149. Day.

  Ten minutes later. James drives along the A149 near Clay. He has the window wide open, the radio on. The great expanse of salt marsh is to his right. The huge sky. The mood is trimphant.

  51. Exterior. Central Norfolk. Day.

  Half an hour later. A lonely road in central Norfolk. James brings the car to a sudden halt. He switches off the engine. In the silence we are able to hear the car cassette player.

  As it plays, James walks round the car till he finds his flat tyre.

  He rummages with growing ill-temper in the boot. Two cases of empty wine bottles, a mildewed towel and swimming trunks, but no jack.

  LECTURER (voice over). There was a real desire on the British part to appear virtuous while behaving aggressively, and the pursuit of virtue led to many lies being told, most notable the Prime Minister’s in the House of Commons on December 20 when he said that there was ‘no foreknowledge that Israel would attack Egypt’. Perhaps we should reverse the question and ask ourselves to what extent individuals behave like governments, who are bound to act in the national interest which in turn is rarely separable from the government’s interest, or that of the class it represents . . .

  Furious, James goes to the front of the car and snaps off the tape machine, and stands jiggling his keys in the vast silence.

  A minute later. James sets off. The immensity of the landscape, the incongruousness of his clothes . . .

  52. Exterior. Lonely road. Day.

  James, walking.

  53. Exterior. Road through wood. Day.

  The road passes through a wood. When Betty speaks, it surprises both James and us.

  BETTY. Are you the man from the BBC?

  She stands at the head of a little grass track that leads into a wood. She carries a plastic carrier bag. She is almost childlike in her friendliness.

  JAMES. What?

  BETTY. Sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I thought you must be from the BBC. (She advances.) We’ve been waiting, see. And you don’t exactly look like a farmer. I’m Betty.

  They shake hands.

  JAMES. James Penfield.

  BETTY. Come and meet the others. They’ve been waiting for you.

  54. Exterior. Woods. Airfield perimeter. Day.

  James follows Betty through the woods. A rumbling and whining noise increases in violence and becomes deafening once they leave the wood and cross open ground towards a Military Air Base. The Peace Camp is near the perimeter fence.

  A ramshackle collection of tents, caravans, a tepee and a rough wooden shelter which is the communal area. A fire burns here. Various peace signs, Women’s Movement sign and slogan. (‘Fight War, Not Wars,’ etc.)

  Three women are sitting around the fire. A little further off a man is chopping wood. One of the women, Carmen, is over sixty. The other two are in their thirties. The man, Pete, is a vintage hippy. A good mix of regional accents among the campers.

  Betty leads James to the fire.

  BETTY. I found a man from the BBC, but he’s not the man.

  CARMEN. Never mind. We’ll just have to make do. Would you like a cup of tea? Jill, give the young man your cup.

  JAMES (dodging smoke from the fire). Thank you.

  CARMEN. Sit on that log, dear.

  JILL. Be careful though, it wobbles.

  The others laugh.

  JAMES. Er, listen, I . . . I’ve got a puncture. I wondered if I might borrow a jack.

  JILL and CAROL. Pete!

  JAMES. Sorry to be a nuisance.

  Pete ambles over. Inscrutable behind much hair. He registers no awareness of James. He smokes a roll-up.

  CARMEN. Pete, do we have a jack?

  Pete inhales, considers and nods almost imperceptibly.

  Could you look it out for our friend?

  Pete nods again and returns to chopping wood.

  JILL. Is the tea all right? I didn’t ask you if you wanted sugar.

  JAMES. It’s fine, thanks.

  CARMEN. Now first of all, tell us your name.

  JAMES. Penfield. James Penfield.

  CARMEN. This is Jill, Carol, Betty, Mandy, Louise, Pete over there, and I’m Carmen.

  The women smile and murmur hello as they are introduced. Their friendliness progressively disorientates James.

  There’s another fifteen of us out at a meeting.

  CAROL. Would you like us to show you round the camp?

  CARMEN. Let him drink his tea, poor man. I don’t know what’s happened to this other fellow. He said he’d be here at three.

  JILL. Lost!

  BETTY. What do you do at the BBC, James?

  JAMES. I work in radio news, in London.

  A chorus of ‘Oh well then . . .’ and ‘Great!’

  But I’m not an interviewer or a correspondent.

  CARMEN. That doesn’t matter. As long as we can get our message through to someone there. Jill, where are those handouts?

  JILL. They’re back here somewhere. They’re a bit crumpled.

  Pete hands a jack to James.

  JAMES. Oh, great. Thanks.

  Now James has his jack he begins to back away.

  CARMEN. Give them here. This tells you how the Women’s Peace Camp came to be set up. All local women at first, then we had support from women and men all over the country.

  JAMES. Very good.

  JILL. The response has been just amazing.

  JAMES. Yes.

  CARMEN. And this sheet tells you all about the base, the number of missiles they’re going to have, what they think they’re for and so on.

  CAROL. We’ve had the local radio down here.

  JAMES. Terrific.

  CARMEN. But what we need is national coverage. It’s difficult with this Falklands madness going on. Do you think you might be able to do something when you get back?

  JAMES. I’ll suggest it. Remember though, we’re news, not features. It might help if you could get yourselves attacked by the police. Anyway, I’ll be back with this soon. Thanks.

  BETTY (close up, eyes wide). Ordinary people everywhere are saying ‘No, we don’t want these terrible weapons!’ That’s news!

  JAMES. I won’t be a moment.

  55. Exterior. Peace Camp. Evening.

  James drives down the road towards the airbase. He stops his car well short of the camp. He takes the jack from the car and walks towards the camp. There are more people now moving in and out of the light of the fire. The sounds of voices, laughter, mostly female. A meal is being cooked.

  James sets down the jack where it can be found. He has been observed throughout by Pete, from the shadows. He speaks as James is turning back towards his car.

  PETE. Off then?

  JAMES. Er, yes, I put the jack by the . . . hut there. Thanks for your help . . . I . . . I have to be getting back . . . so . . . see you. And thanks . . . and . . . all the best.


  Pete watches James walk away.

  56. Interior. Television company entrance/stairs. Afternoon.

  London. A day later. The television company where Susan works. James is late. The lift is out of order. He runs up several flights of stairs with diminishing energy.

  57. Interior. Screening Room. Afternoon.

  Breathless, James bursts into the screening room. Susan is seated. Jeremy stands near her, leaning against a desk, smoking. By contrast, they are calm.

  JEREMY. Fortunate that I was here to keep Susan entertained.

  JAMES. Sorry. Got held up. What are you doing here?

  JEREMY. Delivering gossip and goodwill. It seems we’ll both be doing Brighton.

  He starts to put on his coat.

  Perhaps you should come too.

  JAMES (to Susan). Will it be fun?

  SUSAN. It was last year.

  JEREMY. We might be able to dig out a couple of Suez survivors for you.

  JAMES. Perhaps I will, then.

  JEREMY (kissing on the cheek first Susan, then James). I’m off. Let’s meet. You promised to tell me about Norfolk.

  JAMES. I’ll ring you.

  A brief pause and a slight awkwardness after Jeremy leaves.

  SUSAN (into microphone). I think we’re ready now, thank you. (To James.) And how was Norfolk? Did you get on with my mother?

  JAMES. I think she liked me.

  SUSAN. Did she talk about me?

  JAMES. No. We talked about history, and Siberian Geese.

  The lights go down.

  We see a series of film clips about Suez: crowd scenes in Cairo; footage of the Fleet on its way from Malta; the actual invasion; parachutes; Eden at Downing Street; Lloyd at the airport; the protest meeting at Trafalgar Square; fighting in Suez streets.

  James sneaks occasional looks at Susan throughout. We see her in profile, lit by the screen.

  SUSAN (as the first pictures come up). It’s not in chronological order. There’s an hour of stuff, of which the director has to choose four minutes. What’ll happen is that I’ll choose it for him . . . Does he look like a man on speed?