Hoodening Play 1997

Moll:

THE HOODENERS ARE HERE!
All right you lot keep the noise down
Before we start we don't need a sound
Complete hush is the order of the day
Then you'll all hear what we have to say.

(Enter others except Dobbin)

Moll:

Here they come the motley crew
'ang on… there's one too few.

'arry:

We've left Dobbin behind sulking at the farm
His replacement is this thing in my palm

Boy:

It's a 'Cyber Pet' from what I can tell

(A noise is heard)

Moll:

That you Sam?

'arry:

No, it's just made a smell.

Sam:

Why look at me? That's not nice!

Boy:

Guess why he's called Stinky Spice…

Sam:

It should be easier to clean up the mess.

Boy:

And saves a bit on hay I guess.

'arry:

It's not much fun and awkward to ride.

Sam:

Sort of gets stuck up your backside.

Boy:

Not a good place from what I'm told.

Moll:

The thought of it makes my blood run cold.

George:

And who's gonna pull that plough next week?

Sam:

Ah switch it off, it gives me the creeps!
It makes weird noises, it's naff and grubby

Boy:

Sounds to me like a Telly-Tubby!

Moll:

It's not the same without the old jade
Anyway, this thing's batteries have started to fade.

'arry:

Let's get Dobbin in, 'fore he gets in a state
Here he is — he just couldn't wait!

(Enter Dobbin who charges about)

Sam:

Don't he look a wonderful sight
Makes yer feel good George…

George:

Yeah, you're right.

'arry:

Steady Dobbin, calm yourself mate
You've had a hard time in the fields of late.

Moll:

He has indeed worked harder than most
Now let's have some lines about our host

[SPECIAL LINES FOR EACH HOUSE]

Moll:

Back in the summer it was so dry
So much dust…

George:

I got some in my eye.

Boy:

The ground was so hard I stubbed my toe

Sam:

It was just like iron…

George:

I bent my hoe

Boy:

Yer what?

George:

My 'oe

'arry:

Ploughing's so rough we buckled a tine

George:

The same sort of thing 'appened to mine.

Sam:

Yer what?

George:

My 'oe

'arry:

Water's so tight they'll soon ban the hose.

George:

Mine's no use that's all I knows.

Moll:

No, hose, as in water, that's what he meant.

George:

Ah I get yer… but mine's still bent

Sam:

Is he all right? He seems even denser
He was hardly ever a case for Mensa

George:

I've got some soil I must get mixed
I really must get my 'oe fixed

('arry changes the subject…)

'arry:

Rather than ditch Dobbin, we could do with another
There's so much work… has he got a brother?

Moll:

He once had a foal, can't remember his name.

Boy:

That daft thing?

Sam:

I think he went lame (I made sure he went lame)

'arry:

Some extra help might stop all the moaning
There is some talk 'bout summat called cloning

Boy:

Isn't that what Moll has in her corset?

(Moll makes an improper gesture with her broomstick)

Moll:

Watch this broomstick, and where I'll force it!

Sam:

Making a matching pair, that is cloning
What's in Moll's stays is mainly boning!

'arry:

Cloning is forming a perfect pair

Boy:

That new barmaid's are pretty fair
They come out about to there (holds hands out)
I just go to the bar and stare

('arry waves his arms in front of the boy, trying to get his attention)

'arry:

It's like creating a perfect double

Moll:

Sounds to me a bit like trouble.
It would be a folly…

Boy:

… to have a second Molly

Moll:

Two Sams and their smell…

George:

… that would be pure hell.
And what about two bosses…

Boy:

… even worse two hosses

Sam:

You'd have to choose only the good bits

Boy:

That barmaid's…

'arry:

… now I remember…

(Moll waves her arms in front of 'arry's glazed eyes)

Moll:

… you rude gits!

(Noise goes off — Dobbin stirs)

'arry:

What the 'ell was that noise

Sam:

It was something of the old boy's

'arry:

Tell him not to let it 'appen again
It frightened the horse — grab his mane
We don't want Dobbin runnin' a muck
I think he's even starting to buck.

(Noise goes off again — Dobbin cavorts)

Boy:

Poor old horse is in a state
Off he goes like a bull at a gate
Ouch! He's trodden on my foot
And made a hole in me boot

Moll:

This has the making of a riot
It'll be hours now before he's quiet.

(Dobbin floors George and quietens down)

Moll:

Dobbin's laid him straight and flat
And he's squashed poor George's hat (Sob-sob)

Boy:

He looks OK…

'arry:

Don't know about that…

Sam (sniggering):

It squashed him — like a gnat!

Moll:

Looks like a tragic accident

Sam:

One thing, his head's had a dent

'arry:

Looks more like a dreadful disaster

Sam:

You'll need more than a 'Band-Aid' plaster

Moll:

There's no life in 'im at all
You'll have to give his folks a call
And we can't just leave him rotting there

Boy:

The snails'll soon make homes in his hair…
He was always into organics (orgasmics) and stuff

Moll:

Don't be rude, Boy, that's quite enough!

Sam:

No, he liked gardens — that's all our Boy meant
He loved the soil of the fair land of Kent

'arry:

Maybe we'd best give him back to the ground
A hole's too much trouble — just cover 'im with a mound

Sam:

Of earth do you mean? Or something more fertile?
I've always been a bit of a scatolophile…

'arry:

Yer what?

Moll:

What'd he say?

Boy:

It sounded quite vile!

Sam:

Just think, if Dobbin produced a nice pile…

(Dobbin obliges)

Sam:

We'd have summat to bury George, or maybe wake 'im up

(Nodding wink at the audience)

Boy:

We used that gag last year and they told us to shut up!
I reckon we should forget about his resurrection
And think some more 'bout our own protection
The Boss'll never want to hire more men

'arry:

So he'll force us to work even harder, again
If only we could find some cheap labour near here

Sam:

'ere! ("hear hear") Listen up — I've had an idea!
You know that "procedure" you mentioned?

'arry:

What, cloning?

Sam:

Why not try it on George? (George moans) Shut up, stop groaning!

'arry:

We'd need to get hold of a big syringe…

Moll:

The very thought of it makes me cringe!
If a needle would do, I've got just the ticket
It's one from my knitting — now where shall I stick it?

'arry (aside):

I could think of a few places…

Boy:

Get some flesh off his leg — there're plenty of cells

(Moll starts probing around the ankles)

Boy:

Dig it right in, he can't feel it…

George:

HELLS BELLS!

Others:

He's alive!

George:

What are you playing at, you miserable fool?
Don't you even know how to use your tool?

Moll:

I thought you was dead…

'arry:

We hoped it was — er, wasn't — true

George:

There's nowt wrong with me!

Moll:

But your lips have gone blue…

George:

I'm fit as a fiddle(r), so keep your mouth tight

Sam:

Best clear the decks, there'll soon be a fight!

George:

Gimme that needle, you stupid old hag

(Lunges for needle: Moll pulls it back)

Moll:

Watch out, you're about to get felled by the nag!

(George looks anxiously around; cries of "behind you!" etc.; others restrain him + pull his hat over his eyes, etc. Needle sticks into Dobbin, who runs off.)

'arry:

Calm down, you ain't had enough beer yet for that
(I wonder if our host can hear at the back?)
While we're still sober ("more's the pity") best finish the lines

Boy:

Then on to the homebrew (punch) to damage our brains!

(George nods in agreement and calms down)

George:

By the way, did you fix my 'oe?

Moll:

What 'oe?

George:

Oh, hello Moll!

Moll:

It would never haver worked, George is unique
He's too thick to clone…

George:

Oi, less of your cheek!

'arry:

Where's Dobbin?

Boy:

I think he has run out
I'll go and find him

Moll:

When you do, just shout!

(Boy 'goes off')

Sam:

We need some cash for the beer we lack
We could ask this lot as a matter of fact
They look very generous, much more this year
The smiles on their faces, they're full of cheer ("or pissed on beer")

'arry:

I noticed something when I sat on the tractor
As I looked around, I got a feelgood factor
It felt so good, twas a regular treat

Sam:

It was probably something that poked through the seat!

Boy (outside):

Found him!

(In runs Dobbin with Clone… they run around)

George:

He's back! And with such a force…
History's bin made — we've cloned a horse!

Moll:

Grab 'em quick, come on yer wally

'arry:

What shall we call it?

Sam:

How about Dolly?

Moll:

Hello Dolly!

(Song: after Louis Armstrong)

Hello, Dolly, this is Molly, Dolly,

It's so nice to have you join our little throng,

That funny smell, Dolly, can you tell, Dolly?

That's no lamb, it's our Sam, he's still going strong

We feel the room swaying, and we start praying

For one of those thunderbolts to come from way up high… but… 

Trust the Hoodeners, 'til we get some good food in us,

Sam'll just fart away again!

George:

Our singing has spooked 'em, praps it was folly
I can't 'old Dobbin…

Moll:

Nor me Dolly

Sam:

We must 'old on, this clone's worth dosh
We could retire, and live real posh

George:

I could pay back all I'm owing
'oeing… that reminds me…

All:

SHURRUP!

Sam:

Look out, they're going!

(Horses run off)

'arry:

We won't see the likes of Dolly again
Unless that boy can grab its mane

Moll:

Where is he?

(Long pause until breathless Boy rushes back in…)

Boy:

Here I am! I found Dobbin, no trouble
Chasing around with what seemed like a double
They panicked when I caught 'em, they began to shiver
The other one ran off and swam over the river

George:

That must be it then, the end of our story
We'll have to wait a bit longer for glory
We were intending to do The Full Monty
But then we found out Dobbin's hung like a donkey

Sam:

Well the sun is setting in the sky
Time us Hoodeners said good-bye
But first our cause, for which we plead
Desperate people in great need…

'arry (angry):

I told you, Fergie is out of bounds!

George:

Actually 'arry, we're talking hounds

Boy:

Not the hunt again? For f-f-f-fox's sake!

Moll:

No boy, your information's out of date
It's the RSPCA we want to aid
'cos they're building a sanctuary near St Nicholas at Wade

George:

They'll help 'orses and bunnies and puppy dogs too

Sam:

I just wonder who gets to clean up all the poo?
Last year we gave 'undreds to the RNLI,
The PDSA and those hambulances what fly,
The school got some drums for their musical troupe,
And the balance we gave to St Nicholas playgroup,

'arry:

So dig out your dosh, and fill up our bag
… especially the bloke parked outside in a Jag!
(or "I need some more money to buy me some fags!")

All:

For if ye the Hooden Horse do feed
Throughout the year ye shall not need.