[Note: this version is as the play was performed in Edenbridge; it was amended for the December performances in St Nicholas and changed again when re-used in 1977]
Hoodening 1969
Copyright (c) The Hoodeners. All rights reserved.
- Moll:
- They're waiting, Joe
- Joe:
- That's all right, gal, let 'em wait
- Sam:
- Old Dobbin's in a sorry state
Sixty miles he's had to plod
- Joe:
- It's finished him; it has, by God
- Martin:
- The only grub he's had — some hay
That Joe here pinched out Reigate way
- Joe:
- He's lost a shoe, his hoof is split
We'll never get the poor jade fit
- Sam:
- And then we'll have to walk back home
- Joe:
- I wish to God we'd never come
- Moll:
- They're well breech'd here; they'll see us right
- Martin:
- Not them, Moll; ne'er a sup or bite
We'll get from them — they're too darned tight!
- Sam:
- I've got an idea
- Joe:
- Ah?
- Sam:
- Let's sell the bastard to the Knackers
And walk back home and spend the ackers
- Joe:
- The Knacker's yard can have the nag
We'll take him there and spend the swag
- Martin:
- We'll lead him there then, Joe, and flog 'im
- Sam:
- Then the Pub for ale and noggin
- Joe:
- But we still got to shift 'im
- Sam:
- Give him a kick or else a crack
Across his nose and then stand back
- Martin:
- The brute's as stubborn as a mule
- Joe:
- It's me you're kicking, bloody fool
- Moll:
- Jab your knife beneath his tail
He'll get up then, chaps, without fail
- [Dobbin springs up and rushes angrily into the room,
cavorting savagely around]
- Martin:
- You've done it now; he's up all right
- Joe:
- My God, he's gone and taken fright
Here, catch his bridle, boy
- Martin:
- Too late
He'll smash the house down, sure as fate
- Sam:
- He's going mad
- Martin:
- He's rushing round
- Joe:
- Tell 'em we'll catch him for ten pound
- Martin:
- We'd better just go in and see
- Joe:
- Go on then. Rather you than me
- Martin:
- I think I'll see what I can do
- Joe:
- Go on then, boy, I'll follow you
- [They enter the room]
- Sam:
- Blow down his nostrils, Martin, see
- Martin:
- Not bloody likely — you be me
- Sam:
- My God, look at him
- Moll:
- His hooves are crashing on the floor
- Martin:
- His flying mane and gnashing jaw
- Sam:
- Sparks all flying from his toes
- Joe:
- A quart of soap suds from his nose
Sprinkle the ground, roll down his chin
To prove there's spirit still within
- [Dobbin, after some time cavorting round the room, retires to one side of the room and slowly quietens down]
- Sam:
- He's quiet now
- Martin:
- He nods his head, his fury spent
The quietest nag in all East Kent
- Joe:
- Old Dobbin snorts and then he sighs
- Sam:
- A thoughtful look comes in his eyes
- Moll:
- It's plain to see his temper's mending
- Joe: (aside)
- But look, his nether pipe's descending
- Sam:
- And now… he slowly lifts his tail
- Joe:
- Quick Martin, run and fetch a pail
- Sam:
- Too late; the floor is soaked already
- Martin:
- Now hold it Dobbin, boy, go steady
- All:
- Well, look at that!
- Joe:
- A puddle's formed full five feet wide
- Sam:
- From which a tributary tide
Is flowing fast…
- Martin:
- But then the mat
Absorbs the flood, and that is that
- Sam:
- Come, let's cut off before the fire
Can make the soggy mat perspire
- Joe:
- Before the warmed fumes exhale
Of this repulsive horse's stale
- Moll:
- You grab him then, boy. He's quiet now
- Martin:
- All right I hope is is. OH!! He bit my hand
- Sam:
- Look out! He's rearing!
- Joe:
- 'e's 'it 'is 'ead — 'ard!
- Moll:
- 'e's down
- Sam:
- I don't like the way he's lying. Drive old Dobbin off
- Moll:
- Supine he lies upon the ground
Let's see if we can bring him round
- Sam:
- I reckon you best fetch a doctor
And tell him that old Dobbin's knocked a
Six inch hole deep in his pate
- Moll:
- Don't trouble, Joe, you'll be too late
- Joe:
- A surgeon, mates, is what we need
To come and use his skill with speed
Who'll know just where each morsel fits
Who'll chuck away the worthless bits
Whose knowing hands can take his brain
And ram it gently back again
And so this boy's poor brain restore
At least to what it was before
- Sam:
- See the blood is turning black
Welling from that bloody crack
It forms a crust around his hair
- Moll:
- There's nothing more to build on there
- Joe:
- From now until the final trump
Our Martin's just a lifeless lump
- Sam:
- For twenty youthful years he roughed it
Now, alas, poor Martin's snuffed it
Alas, what wicked cruel luck it
Is poor Martin's kicked the bucket
- Joe:
- Oh, how lamentably sad it
Is that our friend Martin's had it
- Moll:
- Bring in rosemary and rue
- Joe: (aside)
- And some sage and onions too
Cut off in 's youth aged twenty years
Let's lift him from this vale of tears
- Sam:
- That's not tears, dear Joe, I wis
That, my friend, is Dobbin's p…
- Joe:
- Now Sam, boy, don't use that word here!
- Sam:
- At least I know a tear's a tear
- Joe:
- You only meant old Dobbin's slashed
His head. No call to be abashed
- Moll:
- Let's bury him then
- Sam:
- A sheet. We shall want a sheet to wrap him in
- Joe:
- A sheet. Who's got a sheet?
- Moll:
- Here's one, Joe
- [They cover him with the sheet]
- Joe:
- About his broken body strew
Sprays of roses, sprigs of yew
Rosemary and bitter rue
- Moll:
- White chrysanthemums adorning
This youth killed without due warning
Express the sorrow of our mourning
- Sam:
- Now for Martin tolls the bell
In the prime of youth he fell
You, Ancient sexton, toll his knell
- All:
- Ding, dong, ding, dong, ding, dong, dong
- [They hoist him on their shoulders and carry him around the room to the accompaniment of a funeral march]
- Joe:
- Christ, he's heavy
- Sam:
- Let's put him down for a bit
- Joe:
- Undertaking makes me sweat
Run to the ale house, Sam, and get
Six bottles of their best beer
While me and Moll sit by him here
- Sam:
- I only got a tanner (sixpence)
- Joe:
- What you got Moll?
- Moll:
- Nothing
- Sam:
- Joe?
- Joe:
- Ninepence
- Sam:
- That's… one and sixpence, then, I think
- Joe:
- That's not enough for one small drink
- Sam:
- I know, Joe
- [Sam and Joe whisper together, attempting to prevent Moll from hearing. Sam suggests in an undertone that they should search Martin]
- Moll:
- Oh — wicked! I heard what you said!
Shame on you, Sam, to rob the dead!
- Joe:
- He liked a pint himself Moll. Why
He'd not have seen his mates go dry
- Sam:
- He owed me several; any road
We need a drink with such a load
He's always been a mate of ours
- Joe:
- We'll make it up to him in flowers
- Sam:
- Let's find the poor young beggar's riches
Come on, Joe, I'll take his breeches
- Joe:
- A rusty nail, a bit of string
A corkscrew, and a pointed thing
- Sam:
- Three dog-ends and some runner beans
In this back pocket's all his means
- Joe:
- A lady's hanky and a garter…
He must 'ave been a regular Tartar
Epistle from across the Channel
- Sam:
- If you ask me this poor young man'll
Be less trouble in the ground
But still his money can't be found
- Joe:
- Ah, I've struck gold, look here — five pound!
- Martin:
- Hands off my money, thieving hound!
- Joe:
- He spoke!
- Sam:
- Alive, by God!
- Moll:
- Help him up, you rotten swine
- Martin:
- And give me that five quid of mine
- Joe:
- I took it fearing you might lose it
- Moll:
- You lying pair, you thought to booze it
- Martin:
- A good idea — I'm thirsty too
Come on Moll. Come on, you two
If you ask me, this house is dry
- Sam: (aside)
- Apart from Dobbin's chamber lye
- Martin:
- Look, Dobbin looks to me contrite
The clouds of anger vanished quite
- Joe:
- As, after rain, the sun appears
So Dobbin after nether tears
- Martin:
- There's only one thing to do then
- Sam:
- What's that?
- Martin:
- Well, we best say goodbye to this old lot
- Joe:
- Right, come on Dobbin, come on boy!
- All:
- Well, masters, Martin's head's all right
And Dobbin, as you see's contrite
And so are we, if we've offended —
But there — least said is soonest mended
And if old Dobbin did a…miss
Well masters, as you hope for bliss
Forgive him too, he's common clay
And so are we. Since we today
Full sixty miles at least have come
Release us now to go back home
Now let the sound of your kind hands
Release us from bad conscience's bands
God blesses those who bless poor men
Once more, adieu, kind friends. Amen
Copyright (c) The Hoodeners. All rights reserved.