LIFE AINT WOT IT USED TO BE (continued)

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Scene 7

Lionel’s grubby flat.

LIONEL:

I had become enchanted with the story Well, the film version anyway. The first song I wrote was WHERE IS LOVE. 1 was in my car, returning from somewhere, and I had to pull over and write it down while it was still fresh in my mind.

You know somethin’? I have never spent more than an hour on any tune. A song should be like a sneeze – spontaneous.

Anyway, 1fled with a mate to a little fishing village near Torremolinos in Spain and rented a little place there, with a maid, for two pounds a week and wrote OLIVER! there.

That little fishing village near Torremolinos… it was like another world. The sun, the sea, the quiet… it all came together, and the songs just poured out of me.

When I came back I hawked it around about a dozen managements and they all turned it down. They said, with it full of orphans and set in a workhouse, it sounded too depressing.

Eventually, Donald Albery, owner of four West End theatres, took a chance on it. The rest is history…

Lighting changes and we see Lionel, John, Alma, and a few musicians sing/play a medley of  songs: WHERE IS LOVE…GOT TO PICK A POCKET OR TWO…REVIEWING THE SITUATION

(add a verse or two of each song)

ALMA:
(singing along)
You’ve outdone yourself this time, Lionel. This is magic.

JOHN:
(grinning)
I told you it would be a hit.

End of scene

Scene 8

Lionel sitting at a table drinking from a glass of whiskey. He looks at the almost empty whiskey bottle. John and Alma are close by.

LIONEL:

(to John)  You drinkin’ all my whiskey?

JOHN:

Your whiskey! Who bought and paid for it? Come on, Lionel, you’ve had enough for  now.

ALMA:

Yes Lionel. You’ve got a premiere in a few hours. You need to sober up.

LIONEL: Who’s drunk? It would take more than this gnats piss (waves his glass) to get me high (waves about) You got anything stronger? (this to John) You know…the old wacky baccky…or somethin’ stronger…

JOHN:

I don’t do any of that stuff. You know that. Why don’t you ask your other so-called mates.

ALMA:

Lionel! You’re supposed to be escorting me to the show. You need to pull yourself together.

JOHN:

Something’s bothering you. I can see it In your eyes. What is it?

LIONEL:

I’ll tell you what it is, mate. If anything goes wrong on that stage tonight I am going to walk out of the theatre and wander round Trafalgar Square until it’s all over.  That’s how wound up I feel.

ALMA:

What can go wrong? That last rehearsal was flawless. Everybody said so.

LIONEL:

I’m a believer that if something can go wrong it will.

JOHN:

A pessimist!

LIONEL:

Yeah. A glass half-empty kinda’ guy…(looks  at his empty glass) which reminds me…

Lights dim. Lionel on his own.

 LIONEL:

Something did go wrong. (pause) I’m sitting in the stalls in my ‘escape hatch’ when it  does. At the start of scene two, one of the scenery bits is supposed to move away a bit to reveal a domestic scene but it doesn’t move far enough, and in my state  I saw doom and disaster. I don’t suppose anybody noticed except my self and Sean Kenny the set designer. But I panicked and took off for Trafalgar Square and walked around in a daze until I guessed the show was over. As I got back I could hear this rumbling noise and all this activity outside the theatre. My first thought was ‘my God, they think it was awful’. Then Donald Albery, the owner, spotted me, and grabbed my arm, shouting ‘you have got to go in. They are shouting for you in there. They won’t leave until you go in. There have already been something like twenty five curtain calls. We have a hit. A big hit’

And we had. The biggest hit in the history of the West End musical.  It was to run for 2618 performances,  more than seven years. And during that time it had also run for more than three years on Broadway….

Many people run on stage shouting ‘it’s a hit…we have a hit’ etc. Lionel is laughing and dancing with everybody. We hear a version of FOOD. GLORIOUS FOOD… ETC,

Lights dim, end of scene

END OF ACT 1

LIFE AINT WOT IT USED TO BE (continued)

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Scene 5

LIONEL: (in spotlight)                                                                                               My mother was forty-nine when she had me. Or so she said! Or was it forty-one? Anyway, by that time she had very little strength left to give me the affection and love I craved.  I remember sitting by the piano as a boy, playing tunes to make her smile. But she was too tired to even clap. Not only was I deprived of love, I had no money either, so you can imagine when I hit it really big with Oliver, the novelty of being wealthy was more than I could cope with. Trouble is money doesn’t automatically bring love, does it? And I needed love. So I thought I could buy it.

John Gorman appears in another spot. They both sing a verse of ‘Can’t Buy Me Love.

BOTH:                                                                                                                           Can’t buy me love, love
Can’t buy me love

I’ll buy you a diamond ring my friend
If it makes you feel alright
I’ll get you anything my friend
If it makes you feel alright
‘Cause I don’t care too much for money
For money can’t buy me love

LIONEL:

I wish I had written that. Not bloody Lennon.

JOHN:

Don’t forget McCartney.

LIONEL:

They wrote that in Alma’s flat you know. In fact I think she helped.( Pause}                   

Money can’t buy me love.

JOHN:

You bought plenty of other stuff though. You’ve always been chasing something, Lionel. Love, fame, money… but you’ve already got more than most people ever dream of. You had four fancy cars at one stage. And a chauffeur-driven limo. Not to mention that palace in Chelsea.

LIONEL:

Aye. The Fun Palace. Money was no object and I had this desperate need to be loved. And I used to think that giving someone an expensive present was a foolproof way of buying their affection. Today, of course, by some irony the situation is reversed. I’m so broke it is they who are giving me the gifts. The worst thing about being bankrupt John, Is having no…money! It really pisses me off. In fact, I was so pissed off this morning that I wrote this new song – Bankruptcy Blues.

He hands john a copy of the lyrics and they sing it, with Lionel on piano

BOTH:

Bankruptcy Blues”
(In the style of Lionel Blair)

(Verse 1)
Oh, the bills came knocking, and the debts piled high,
The bank said, “Sorry, love, but now it’s goodbye!”
I once had a fortune, now I’ve got naught but air,
But I’ll tap-dance through the chaos, ‘cause I just don’t care!

(Chorus)
It’s the Bankruptcy Blues, oh, what a lark!
I’m singing in the dark, though the future’s not so stark.
With a wink and a grin, I’ll let the troubles slide,
For every cloud’s got a silver lining inside!

(Verse 2)
The creditors are calling, but I’m out of sight,
I’m waltzing through the ruins, keeping spirits light.
They took my car, my house, and my fancy yacht,
But they’ll never take my joy—oh no, they cannot!

(Chorus)
It’s the Bankruptcy Blues, oh, what a show!
I’m down, but not out, and the world will know.
With a twirl and a spin, I’ll rise from the ash,
For life’s a grand performance, and I’m here to sashay!

(Bridge)
So here’s to the dreamers who’ve lost it all,
Who’ve stumbled and fallen but still stand tall.
Bankruptcy’s a chapter, not the end of the book,
With a song in my heart and a hopeful look!

(Final Chorus)
It’s the Bankruptcy Blues, oh, what a ride!
I’ll take it in my stride, with my pride as my guide.
With a laugh and a song, I’ll turn the tide,
For life’s a stage, and I’m still on the bright side!

(Outro)
So raise a glass to the ups and the downs,
To the smiles and the frowns, and the spins and the rounds.
Bankruptcy’s a dance, and I’m leading the way,
With a twinkle in my eye, I’ll steal the day!

JOHN:

There’s still life in the old dog eh! (pause) When you mentioned the Fun Palace back there, something that’s been bothering me for ages came to mind. Where did that name come from?

LIONEL thinks for a moment

LIONEL:                                                                                                                       The Fun Palace? It was something that Joan – Joan Littlewood – wanted to set up. An avant-garde theatre scene of the 1960s. A sort a visionary project conceived by Joan  and architect Cedric Price, designed to be a dynamic, interactive cultural space that blurred the lines between art, technology, and community.                               Although it was never fully realized, it remains a symbol of radical creativity and innovation. It was never built due mainly to financial and logistical challenges.   Joan’s Fun Palace was supposed to be this grand, revolutionary thing. Mine? Just a fancy house with too many rooms and not enough love.                                     (laughs) I just nicked the name for my place!

Lionel visualises a conversation between himself and Joan

JOAN:
(gesturing wildly)
Imagine it, Lionel—a place where art, science, and community come together. No  

LIONEL:
(skeptical)
Sounds like a pipe dream, Joan. How are you going to pull it off?

JOAN:
(grinning)
With a little help from my friends. You in?

LIONEL:
(laughing)

If you build it Joan, they will come! (to the audience)
Life’s a stage, and I’m still dancing. Even if the music’s stopped.

End of scene

Scene 6
LIONEL:(to the audience)                                                                                           When I was a young kid in the East End, there was a sweet shop opposite our house where you could get a chocolate bar with a toffee in it for a penny. It was called ‘Oliver’, and the wrapper around it had a picture of a lad asking for more. I never forgot that image. And then I saw that film by David Leon…

John Gorman appears

JOHN:                                                                                                                       Yeah. Oliver. I was there too, remember? We had bunked off from our National Service to see it. I remember you sayin’ you had never even read Oliver Twist back then.

LIONEL:                                                                                                                           I still haven’t got round to it.

JOHN:                                                                                                                         How can you write a play about a book you haven’t even read?


LIONEL:                                                                                                                      Easy peasy. I was reading an article one night recently about how Dickens had gone about writing it, and it hit me—this story was meant to be sung. The characters, the drama, the heartbreak… it was all there, just waiting for a tune

He plays and sings at the Piano. Alma Cogan comes in during this and joins in

LIONEL:

I’ve already written a few (sings’ Food, Glorious, Food’) 

 Is it worth the waiting for?
If we live ’til eighty four
All we ever get is gru…el!
Ev’ry day we say our prayer —
Will they change the bill of fare?
Still we get the same old gru…el!
There is not a cust, not a crumb can we find,
Can we beg, can we borrow, or cadge,
But there’s nothing to stop us from getting a thrill
When we all close our eyes and imag…ine

Food, glorious food!
Hot sausage and mustard!
While we’re in the mood —
Cold jelly and custard!
Pease pudding and saveloys!
What next is the question?
Rich gentlemen have it, boys —
In-di-gestion!

Food, glorious food!
We’re anxious to try it.
Three banquets a day —
Our favourite diet!

Just picture a great big steak —
Fried, roasted or stewed.
Oh, food,
Wonderful food,
Marvellous food,
Glorous food.

source: https://www.lyricsondemand.com/soundtracks/o/oliverlyrics/foodgloriousfoodlyrics.html                                                                                                                                                       

LIONEL:
There’s a lot more, but It goes something like that.

ALMA:
A musical about a workhouse boy? Lionel, are you sure this will work?
LIONEL:
It’s not just a workhouse boy. It’s a story about survival, hope, and the power of love. And I feel it’s going to be a hit. (Pauses) What if they hate it though? What if I’ve made a terrible mistake?
JOHN:

Relax, Lionel. You’re creating something extraordinary. Just wait and see.

LIONEL:

Alma, I was thinking of asking you to maybe play the part of Nancy. You know who Nancy was?

ALMA:

(laughing) Of course I do. Not like you, I read the book. She was Bill Sykes girlfriend

LIONEL:

Yes, she was. Nancy is one of the most complex and compelling characters in Oliver!, She plays a crucial role in the story, embodying themes of loyalty, love, and sacrifice. Here’s a bit of a scene I am working on with Nancy and  Oliver. Let’s read it together.

He hands her a sheet of the script.

LIONEL:

I’ll be Oliver. (then he looks at John and hands him a page) You can be Bill

LIONEL:(reads) A dimly lit room in Fagin’s hideout. Nancy is sitting alone, holding a shawl. Oliver enters, looking scared.

OLIVER:
(softly)
Nancy?

NANCY:
(smiling)
Oliver. Come here, love.

LIONEL reads. ‘Oliver sits beside her, and she wraps the shawl around him’.

NANCY:
You’re safe now, Oliver. I won’t let anything happen to you.

OLIVER:
(tearfully)
But what about Bill? He’ll hurt you if he finds out.

NANCY:
(softly)
I know, love. But some things are worth the risk.

(She begins to sing As Long As He Needs Me, her voice filled with emotion.

NANCY:
(singing)
As long as he needs me…
Oh, yes, he does need me…
In spite of what you see…
…I’m sure that he needs me.

Who else would love him still
When they’ve been used so ill?
He knows I always will…
As long as he needs me.

I miss him so much when he is gone,
But when he’s near me
I don’t let on.

As she finishes, Bill Sikes enters, his face dark with anger.

BILL:
(grabbing Nancy)
What do you think you’re doing, Nancy?

NANCY:
(defiantly)
I’m doing what’s right, Bill. For once in my life, I’m doing what’s right.

BILL:
(angrily)
You’ll regret this, Nancy.

He drags her away as Oliver watches, helpless. The lights dim as the scene fades.

LIONEL:

That’s far as I’ve got. What do you think? Are you up for it?

ALMA:

I don’t know. You know how I hate being tied down to anything – or any place – for too long.  I’m a singer Lionel. I like variety. A new place every week. A long run is just not my scene. (pause} Look at Fings Aint Wot they Used To Be. It’s already been running over six months in the West End. And they say it’s sold out for the rest of the year. And it ran for over a year at Stratford East before that.

LIONEL:

And you could have been part of it Alma. Instead, Barbara Windsor is getting all the attention.

ALMA:

Like I said, I don’t think it’s me.
LIONEL:

You might come to regret it. I just have a feeling that this is the big one.

ALMA:

(smiles and sings)

Que Sera Sera, whatever will be will be

The future’s not ours to see, Que Sera Que Sera.

End of scene

LIFEAINT WOT IT USED TO BE (continued)

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Scene 4

Lionel’s flat. Sometime later. Both are relaxing

ALMA:
(pausing)
There’s something I need to tell you, Lionel.

LIONEL:
(stops playing)
Sounds serious. What is it?

Lionel’s flat. Sometime later. Both are relaxing

LIONEL:                                                                                                                     When did we first meet Alma? It was at your flat in Kensington, wasn’t it?

ALMA:                                                                                                                                     Yes, I think so. Tommy Steele brought you along. You had just written Rock With The Cavemen for him and it was a big hit.  Must be five years or more now.  (teasing)
But you’ve written so many hits—Living Doll for Cliff, As Long As He Needs Me for Shirley…but you can’t expect me to remember that far back.

We see her nervously fiddling and twisting her handkerchief

LIONEL:
(looking up)
You’ve been quiet tonight, Alma. Something on your mind

ALMA:
(takes a deep breath)
It’s about John. John Lennon.

LIONEL:
(raising an eyebrow)
What about him?

ALMA:
(hesitating)
We… we had a thing. A secret. It didn’t last long, but… it happened.

LIONEL:
(stunned)
You and Lennon? When?

ALMA:
(softly)
A couple of years ago. It was just after they started getting big. He was… different. Wild. And I was… curious.

LIONEL:
(bitterly)
Curious? Is that what you call it?

ALMA:
(defensive)
It wasn’t like that, Lionel. It was just a moment. A mistake.

LIONEL:
(standing up)
A mistake? You and one of the most famous men in the world? That’s not a mistake, Alma. That’s a headline.

ALMA:
(pleading)
It didn’t mean anything. It was just… something that happened.

LIONEL:
(sighing)
And now you’re telling me. Why?

ALMA:
(because I care about you, Lionel. Because I don’t want there to be any secrets between us.

LIONEL:
(softening)
Secrets have a way of coming out, Alma.

ALMA:
(smiling faintly)
I know. But I’d rather you hear it from me.

(They sit in silence for a moment, the weight of her confession hanging in the air. Lionel walks over to the piano and plays a few notes, lost in thought.)

LIONEL:
(softly)
You’re full of surprises, Alma.

ALMA:
(smiling)
That’s what keeps life interesting, isn’t it? Anyway, now it’s you turn.

LIONEL:                                                                                                                      My turn?

 ALMA:                                                                                                                         What secrets are you hiding? Come on…fair’s fair!

Lionel is silent for a while

LIONEL:                                                                                                                          I can’t read or write music

ALMA: (laughing)                                                                                                   Everybody already knows that! Come on…give!

LIONEL:                                                                                                              Well…lots of people think we are a couple, don’t they? I mean, we go places together, don’t we? And we often go away together for a couple of days… stuff like that.

ALMA:                                                                                                                             Like a married couple you mean? But we not really like that, are we?
(teasing) You know, Lionel, we’d make a great team. Maybe we should just get married and write hit songs together forever.


LIONEL:
(laughing)
And who’d keep us in line? You’d be off touring the world, and I’d be locked in a room with a piano.

ALMA: (jokingly)

I’m serious! (pause) Lionel, you’ve been my best friend, my collaborator, and the one person who always understands me. So, what do you say? Shall we make it official?

LIONEL:
(stunned)
Alma, are you serious?

ALMA: (smiling)

I could be
LIONEL                                                                                                                       N…No, you couldn’t.

ALMA:                                                                                                                       And we both know why, don’t we? (Lionel nods) We’re just friends. Good friends, but still only friends. (pause) Are you happy with that?

Lionel nods again

ALMA:                                                                                                                         Then so am I

ALMA sings ‘A HARD DAYS NIGHT’ while Lionel accompanies her on piano

Song by

The Beatles

It’s been a hard day’s night
And I’ve been working like a dog
It’s been a hard day’s night
I should be sleeping like a log
But when I get home to you
I find the things that you do
Will make me feel alright

You know I work all day
To get you money, to buy you things
And it’s worth it just to hear you say
You’re gonna give me everything
So why on earth should I moan
‘Cause when I get you alone
You know I feel OK

When I’m home
Everything seems to be right
When I’m home
Feeling you holding me tight
Tight, yeah

It’s been a hard day’s night
And I’ve been working like a dog
It’s been a hard day’s night
I should be sleeping like a log
But when I get home to you
I find the things that you do
Will make me feel alright, owww!

So why on earth should I moan
‘Cause when I get you alone
You know I feel OK

When I’m home
Everything seems to be right
When I’m home
Feeling you holding me tight
Tight, yeah

Mmm, it’s been a hard day’s night
And I’ve been working like a dog
It’s been a hard day’s night
I should be sleeping like a log
But when I get home to you
I find the things that you do
Will make me feel alright
You know I feel alright
You know I feel alright

(They share a quiet moment, the tension slowly easing. The lights dim as the scene fades.)

End of scene

Scene 5

LIFE AINT WOT IT USED TO BE (continued)

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scene 2

 A single spotlight on Lionel, now in his 50s, standing centre stage. The rest of the stage is dark, creating a sense of isolation. As Lionel speaks, faint projections or shadows of key moments from his life appear in the background (e.g., Joan Littlewood, Alma Cogan, the premiere of Oliver.

LIONEL:
(to the audience)
Twenty -five years. Doesn’t sound like much, does it? But when you look back… (pauses) It’s like staring at a different person. That young bloke, full of fire, thinking he could take on the world. And for a while, he did.

(He steps forward, the spotlight following him.)

LIONEL:
Fings Ain’t Wot They Used to Be. What a title, eh? Joan came up with that. Joan Littlewood. She always had a way with words. Me? I just wrote the tunes. But together… (smiling) We made magic. (pauses as he remembers)

 Frank Norman was the geezer who wrote the story.  It was his first play. A straight play; no music or nothin’; Frank sent it to Joan and she liked it, but told him it was a musical. She dragged me in to write the songs. ‘A cockney musical, Joan’, I said, ‘you’re ‘avin’ a laugh’. But she wasn’t. ‘Those days are long departed, dear, she said to me, ‘when every actress has roses round her vowels, and every actor wears a butler’s suit and speaks a mouthful of mockney. Oh no, this is the real Mccoy’.

And so Joan and her Theatre Workshop group began rehearsals at the Theatre Royal, Stratford East early in 1959. Some of those who took part are household names today; Yootha Joyce, Barbara Windsor, James Booth, George Sewell….

(He looks off into the distance, as if recalling a memory. A faint projection of Joan Littlewood appears in the background, directing a rehearsal. Then we see her for real at back of the stage ‘encouraging’ Rosey (Barbara Windsor) to sing a more upbeat rendition of WHERE DO LITTLE BIRDS GO)

JOAN:

Come on Barbara, it’s not a funeral march! Put some oomph into it

ROSEY:

Where do little birds go…in the wintertime? / There will be blizzards and snow too…in the wintertime.                                                                                               And the thought of it horrifies me so / where do…where do…where do little birds go?

JOAN:

No…no Barbara! Get those arms and legs moving. Imagine you are going to fly away…

LIONEL:
(calling out)
Easy, Joan. They’re doing their best.

JOAN:
(turning to him)
Their best isn’t good enough, Lionel. Not for this. You wrote something extraordinary—now let’s make it real.

LIONEL:
(smiling)
You’re a tyrant, you know that?

JOAN:
(grinning)
And you’re a genius. Now stop flattering me and get to work.

(They share a laugh, then Joan turns back to the cast, while Lionel watches with admiration.)

Scene 3

Lional’s flat, papers everywhere. drinks and a half-empty bottle of whiskey. Lionel is at the piano, playing a few notes, while ALMA COGAN sits on the couch, scribbling lyrics on a notepad.

LIONEL:
(playing a melody)
What about this? (sings) 

We got love, we got laughter,
We got dreams to chase.
No matter what comes after,
We’ll always have this place.

.ALMA:
(thinking)
Hmm. It’s close, (pause)   It reminds me a bit of ‘Dreamboat’

LIONEL:

I didn’t write that one, did I?

ALMA:

You’ve written so many you can’t remember! But no, you didn’t. (pause) I think this one needs …more sparkle

LIONEL:
(grinning)
Sparkle? You’re the one with the laugh in your voice, love. Maybe you should sing it.

ALMA:
(playfully hitting his arm)
Cheeky. But seriously, Lionel, this could be huge. It’s got that magic—like Oliver!, but for the pop charts.

LIONEL:
(softly)
You’re my magic, Alma.

(There’s a pause. Alma looks at him, surprised by his sincerity.)

ALMA:
(smiling)
Careful, Lionel. You’ll make me blush.

LIONEL:
(laughing)
Impossible. You’re the queen of cool.

(They share a moment of quiet connection before diving back into the song.)

ALMA:
(scribbling)
What if we change this line? (sings) “We got love, we got laughter, we got nights that last forever…”

LIONEL:
(playing along)
Yes! That’s it. You’ve got it.

(They work together, refining the melody and lyrics. The tension between them is palpable, but they channel it into their creativity.)

ALMA:
(singing)
“We got love, we got laughter, we got dreams to chase. No matter what comes after, we’ll always have this place.”

LIONEL:
(softly)
That’s beautiful, Alma.

ALMA:
(smiling)
It’s ours.

(They share a quiet moment, then Alma stands and takes the notepad.)

ALMA:
Let me try it from the top.

(She begins singing the full song, her voice filling the room. Lionel watches, captivated, as the lights dim slightly, focusing on Alma.)

ALMA:
(singing)

Verse 1:
We got love, we got laughter,
We got dreams to chase.
No matter what comes after,
We’ll always have this place.

Chorus:
Through the highs and the lows,
Wherever we go,
We got love, we got love.
In the stars up above,
In the songs that we sing,
We got love, we got love.

Verse 2:
We got nights that last forever,
We got mornings wrapped in gold.
Even if we’re not together,
We’ll have stories to be told.

Chorus:
Through the highs and the lows,
Wherever we go,
We got love, we got love.
In the stars up above,
In the songs that we sing,
We got love, we got love.

(As she finishes, the room falls silent. Lionel looks at her, a mix of admiration and longing in his eyes.)

LIONEL:
(softly)
You’re incredible, Alma.

ALMA:
(smiling)
We’re incredible, Lionel.

(They share a smile, but there’s a hint of sadness, as if they both know their time together is fleeting. The lights fade.)

LIFE AINT WOT IT USED TO BE

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opening scene of my new play

LIFE AINT WOT ITUSED TO BE

By

Tom O’Brien

Scene1

Lionel Bart’s flat, late at night. He’s sitting at a piano, scribbling notes. A friend, JOHN GORMAN enters. The flat is cluttered with sheet music and memorabilia, There here is a photo of Lional and John in National  Service uniforms on the wall.

JOHN looks at the photo then sings

JOHN:

Stand by your beds, here comes the Vice Marshall,

He’s got lots of rings, but he’s only got one arsehole

Do you remember that?

LIONEL:

How could I forget? (pauses) If we hadn’t been in that same carriage on that train to Padgate to do our National Service, we’d probably never have become friends

JOHN:

Some co-incidence eh!

LIONEL:

Co-incidence my arse! It was fate

JOHN:

(laughing) Remember that bloody Corporal on our first parade? Irish he was, by the name of Buckley. He stood in front of you, eyes burning, the peak of his cap almost touching your face. (dons an army cap and becomes the Corporal)

Where do you come from? (shouting)

LIONEL:

London, Corporal (he stands to attention)

JOHN:

I thought so. You’re a fucking spiv. I can tell by your tie. (He grabs Lionel by his tie and almost chokes him) You’re a fucking spiv. What are you?

LIONAL:

Leave it out, John. Jesus! (he frees himself) I had twelve weeks of that Irish bastard. That was enough. Still, one good thing came out of it; I met you – and we’re still friends after all this time.

They drink some beer and mess around, singing ‘stand by your beds’ again

Lional plays a few notes on the piano.

JOHN:
Jesus , Lionel, it’s almost two in the morning. You must’a been at this for hours.

LIONEL:
(without looking up)
It’s almost there, John. I can feel it. The melody, the words—it’s like they’re just out of reach.

JOHN:
(sitting down)
You’ve been saying that for weeks. What’s so special about this one?

LIONEL:
(smiling faintly)
This one’s different. It’s not just a song. It’s… a story. A boy, alone in the world, searching for something. For family. For home.

JOHN:
(raising an eyebrow)
Sounds heavy.

LIONEL:
(grinning)
Wait till you hear this one…

Lionel claps his hand in a rhythmic beat. He sings a couple of lines:

They changed our local Palais into a bowling alley and

Fings ain’t wot they used to be

The stage lights up. Singers & Dancers appear. Lionel plays the piano

All sing FINGS AINT WOT THEY USED TO BE.

They’ve changed our local palais into a bowling alley and
Fings ain’t wot they used to be
There’s teds wiv drainpipe trousers and debs in coffee houses
And fings ain’t wot they used to be
There used to be trams
Not very quick got you from place to place
But now there’s just jams, half a mile thick
Stay in the human race, I’m walking
They’ve stuck parking meters outside our door to greet us

No, fings ain’t wot they used to be
Monkeys flying around the moon
We’ll be up there wiv ’em soon
Fings ain’t wot they used to be
Once our beer was froffy, but now its froffy coffee
No fings ain’t wot they used to be
It used to be fun

Dad and old Mum paddling down Southend
But now it ain’t done
Never mind chum
Paris is where we spend our outings
Grandma tries to shock us all
Doing knees-up rock ‘n’ roll
Fings ain’t wot they used to be

We used to have stars
Singers who sung A Dixie Melody
They’re buying guitars
Plinkety plunk, backing themselves with three chords only
Once we danced from 12 to three
I’ve got news for Elvis P

Fings ain’t wot they used to be
Did the lot we us to
Fings ain’t wot they used to be

Spotlight back on Lionel and John

LIONEL:

That’s the start of it, John. My meteoric rise, they’re callin’ it. (laughs) They’re ‘avin’ a laff. I’ve been writin’ for fifteen years. Tunes and other stuff. Lots of hits too. What about Tommy Steele…how many have I written for him?…

They both sing a verse of ROCK WITH THE CAVE MEN

Or Cliff Richard….

Both sing a verse of LIVIN’ DOLL

Or  Shirley Bassey…

Both sing a verse of AS LONG AS HE NEEDS ME

LIONEL:

Hey! I didn’t know you could sing!

JOHN:

Oh, I can warble a bit. You’re not the only one who can do that.

Lights fade

Scene 2

SOME MORE WEIRD POMES!

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ACHTUNG BABY!


This refreshingly quiet street
Round the corner from Checkpoint Charlie
A miasma of tourists taking selfies
Next to two fake American soldiers
Dressed in full cold war regalia
Beethoven’s Moonlight sonata
Keyed by unseen hands
Drifting through the lazy afternoon sunshine.
And you framed in the cafe window
Waiting for me.
*
All quiet on the western front these days
The almost musical sound of jackboots
No longer linger; no Stasi lurking
Berlin is no longer east or west
Just plain Berlin will do
*
Twenty five years ago this was no mans land
Then the walls came tumbling down
Almost by accident
A flurry of missed communications
Garbled orders; fearful guards;
People shouting
Let us out, let us out
And we on the west side shouting back
Let them out, let them out
And you shouting
Let me out, let me out
And it happened
*
Today a row of plastic flowers
Mark the line where the wall stood
Mark the spot where we met.
Someone is watering them I see
Making it more difficult for me
To come and tell you
That the cold war has returned –
For us anyway.

THIS ALSO BE THE CODE

Aflunters, babyshed, churching
Drizzen, exflunct, faffle, geo-graffy,
Hoined, infradig, jampher, knoop
Liversick, mafle, natkin, oblat
Penfellow, quackle, raddlings
Scalch, tazzled, umbeer, vagitus
Welwilly, xyster, yafle, zuggers

CITY OF GOLD

I walk this city of twenty-six year olds
With their narrow suits and three-o-clock faces
Their heads full of twitter-speak
And their pockets full of aces.
Cast die to self and follow number seven;
If I say a prayer for redemption
Will I get a free bus ride to heaven?

THE DINOSAURS DEBATE

Malky, have you got a chink in your armour?
I wouldn’t be surprised, Dave
The little blighters get everywhere
How many dogs did you keep in Cardiff, Malky?
More than enough to fill the team when I was there . Did you hear the one about the Brit, Malky? And the Paddy,
The Jock, the Taffy, the Jew and the Paki…
That’s racist, Dave!
Malky Cor blimey!
Are you sure you’re a Limey?

MORE STOLEN WORDS

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SCOTTISH HISTORY LESSONS


The Romans came
And Brittania stretched
As far as the Antonine Wall
But the Picti in Caledonia
With their faces and bodies painted
Forced them back to Hadrian’s Wall.
Then the Gaelic Kingdom of Dal Riata
Welcomed Columba to Iona,
Who turned the pagan Scotti Christian.
Soon the Anglo Saxons of Bernecia
Came calling
And the Viking hordes came too
And so the first Kingdom of Scotland was born.
Down the years it was
House of Alpin
House of Dunkeld
House of Baliol
And House of Stuart
In a rule of three uncontested centuries.
James V1 also inherited the Throne of England
And Stuart Kings and Queens
Ruled both independent Kingdoms
Until that fateful Act of Union in 1707
Finished Scotland as a country
In its own right.

********
Bonnie Prince Charlie tried and failed
At Culloden his protest stalled
And Cumberland his forces mauled
For him there was no other chance
He ran the gantlet back to France.
Now Scotland has its chance again
You had it once, a nation then.
Independent, free, no tyrant’s yoke
For Scotland freedom’s not a joke
Fight like a fishfag, Union be damned!
Your hills, your lochs, your lives, your land.

SEPTEMBER IS THE LOVELIEST MONTH


September is the loveliest month.
The sky is on permanent fire
The trees painted many colours
Burnished, it seems, with pure desire
In the park, ducks glide silently by
And the always busy seagulls
Resemble sea-planes
Coming in to land from on high
Whilst near the dozing oak tree
The squirrels nutmeg each other
Each acorn hoarded
For the soon-to-come cold weather.
Your arm in mine
We stroll down the park
Heading towards the sunset
Home before dark.

FRACKING HELL

Frack them all
Except a few
And if they don’t like it
Frack them too.

MY CAR NOW TALKS TO ME
Hello
Goodbye
Raising the lights like a stage curtain
Playing little movies
Serenading me with melodies
The welcome – farewell experience
They call it
“An emotionally resonant experience”
And that digital note of appreciation
“Thank you for driving a hybrid”
As if it was something…well
Unconnected with this thing on four wheels.
And those door handles
Illuminating when they sense my presence
The needles on the instruments
Snapping to attention as I open the door
There’s a welcoming theme
Part Hollywood soundtrack
Part plane swoosh
And that puddle lamp!
A welcome mat of light.
My car is a robot I think
With a personality not just in its body
But also in its behaviour.
“How can I help you?”
It asks now
As I prepare for take-off.
I really feel like telling it
To shut the fuck up
But I don’t want to hurt its feelings.

STOLEN WORDS is available on Amazon

STOLEN WORDS

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FETCHING THE WATER WITH NEDDY

Where I come from is who I am:
Tangled blackberry bushes
Smoke rising from a solitary chimney
The pine grove in the distance
And Father shouting
“More water in that barrel”
As we bucketed it from our well
To our asses cart,
Creel-less for once.
Other days Neddy would be laden down
With wood from the nearby thicket
Ash trees, young Sally’s, stumps of furze bushes.
Sometimes he hauled sand and gravel
From the quarry at Carroll’s Cross,
Part of Father’s master plan
To build us an outside toilet.
This would mean more water from the well
To feed the tank on its roof,
Unless it rained a lot
Which of course it often did
In our neck of the woods.

451


Ah Montag, Montag, where are you now?
Steeped in your kerosene world
You burnt the books
The houses and even the people.
Then fire seared your brain
And cleansed your senses
Books were made to be read not torched.
So you ran to the river
The Mechanical Hound snapping at your heels.

The sun burns every day
It burns time
The firemen burn the books
They burn them every day
Ah Montag, Montag, time burns everything away.

I HAVE A GOOD BOOK IN ME

According to perceived wisdom
Everybody has a good book in them
I now have a good book in me
I ate one this morning
For breakfast
I am still digesting the contents

RAINY NIGHTS IN SOHO


See all the down-and-out lickers and fuckers
Down the Embankment they tumble
Unable any longer to bear much reality
Too much self-knowledge
And time spent trotting
Between the Tate and the National
Or one of their endless reading groups
Believing they had
A story to tell
If only things had worked out,
If only the monkey had hit the right keys.
Hush! if you listen carefully
You can hear the dead click
Of their keyboards
In the raucousness of the Soho night;
The minicabs, the limos, the rickshaws all screaming
Take me…take me…I’m free
And the hen nighters, the stag nighters,
The whatever-the fuck nighters,
Lingering in pools of their own vomit
Waiting for the paramedics to call;
Shirts open to the navel, skirts slit
From here to eternity.
Late summer, later winter, who gives a shit?
The restaurants are all full
Though nobody is really eating
Just being there is what matters.
Smokers stop the traffic
Inspecting their mobiles
What would a Martian make of that?
No one sees anything any more
Except the lampposts they walk into;
There are no witnesses to crime;
How anybody falls in love anymore is a puzzle
Eyes no longer meet in lingering amazement
Unless they are reflected
In all those infernal hand-held screens.

Some poems from my collection STOLEN WORDS. Available on Amazon.

BITS & PIECES review

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BITS & PIECES                                                           Tom O’Brien

The playwright and novelist Tom O’Brien was born in Ballyhussa near Kilmacthomas Co Waterford, and he emigrated to Kilburn in London in the mid-Sixties. He took up residence wherever he could and shared a room with Vince Power – later of Mean Fiddler fame. Both had gone to school in Newtown Kilmacthomas; Tom had played with an Irish showband and learned songs from Vince’s collection of records. They worked at various jobs; at one time, Vince was a floorwalker in Whiteley’s department store in Queensway, and Tom worked in the Accounts department of Smith’s Radiomobile factory in Cricklewood. They danced in an Irish dance hall, The Banba and later at The Galtymore.

1971 Tom got married, and Vince was his best man in a borrowed suit. There was a building and demolition boom, and Vince began selling unwanted possessions, such as furniture, radiograms, and early television sets. Tom got involved in illegal scams like taking Green Shield stamps and gambling on dog races.

All this is told in Tom’s new book Bits & Pieces, which is full of his early trials and tribulations in Ireland and England. He once backed horses on a famous ITV Seven and won 2,000 pounds sterling. This was enough to pay for his wedding, and Vince persuaded him to open a second-hand furniture shop: Tom’s money and Vince’s expertise (as Vince said). They had a clapped-out Morris van, buying cheap, selling dearer, and delivering.

Soon, their venture turned sour, and Tom accused Vince of selling a painting at an auction house for an excellent profit behind his back. They fell out.

As Tom says, they renewed their acquaintance some years back in Newtown at the funeral of a childhood friend, Maurice Foran.

Tom writes, “Am I bitter? Not really. Life’s too short to dance with an ugly man, as someone once said”.

Vince went on to run the Mean Fiddler Empire, and Tom became a playwright (four plays were produced in London in one year). Today, he is a published playwright, novelist, and poet. Not bad for a life of Bits & Pieces. 

If you buy Bits & Pieces on Amazon UK, you will receive a copy of his hilarious play, Miss Whiplash Regrets

Liam Murphy – Munster Express

THE SHINY RED HONDA

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HE SHINY RED HONDA – AMAZON REVIEW

A wonderful coming-of-age story set in the Ireland of the late fifties and early sixties,The Shiny Red Honda evokes images of a more innocent time, when life was lived at a more gentle pace and people were stoical in the face of hardship, taking the bad with the good as simply part of life’s cycle. Tom O’Brien’s writing is stark and vivid and straight to the point, but always tempered with a wry humour, never taking himself too seriously. We travel with him through his upbringing on a small-holding in County Waterford, sometimes hard, but mostly carefree, and then his emergence from fumbling adolescent to a young working man who played guitar in his spare time in the newly emerging pop/rock band scene of that era. Tom describes everything so beautifully that I found myself re-reading some pages, just for the sheer joy of it. This is one of the best autobiographical books I’ve read in ages, if not THE best, and I can’t wait to read more of Tom O’Brien’s work.

› Go to Amazon.com to see the review 5.0 out of 5 stars