Who is Sylvia? and Duologue Read online

  46. Quoted in Wansell, op. cit., p. 211.

  47. Robert Flemyng. Letter to Terence Rattigan. [Undated.] Rattigan Papers: British Library, Add. MSS. 74346 A.

  48. Darlow, op. cit., pp. 209-10.

  49. H. H. H. ‘New Rattigan Comedy: French Leave Without Tears?’ Cambridge Daily News, 10 October 1950. Rattigan Papers: British Library, Add. MSS. 74553.

  50. The Times. 25 October 1950, p. 6. In print the phrase is ‘serious attention’, which I take to be an error and so have amended.

  51. Daily Mail. 25 October 1950; Beverley Baxter MP. ‘This will not do, Mr Rattigan’. Evening Standard, 27 October 1950. In: Production File: Who is Sylvia?, Criterion Theatre, October 1950, V&A Blythe House Archive.

  52. Alan Dent. ‘Rattigan gives us a sad smile’. News Chronicle. 25 October 1950. Rattigan Papers: British Library, Add. MSS. 74553.

  53. Quoted in Wansell, op. cit., p. 211.

  54. Harold Hobson. ‘A Failure by Keats, a Hit by Terence Rattigan’. Christian Science Monitor. 6 Jan 1951. Rattigan Papers: British Library, Add. MSS. 74553.

  55. Harold Freedman. Letter to Terence Rattigan. 28 March 1950. Rattigan Papers: British Library, Add. MSS. 74346 A.

  56. Today’s Cinema. 13 January 1955. Rattigan Papers: British Library, Add. MSS. 74553.

  57. Darlow, op. cit., p. 260.

  58. The production can be viewed on The Terence Rattigan Collection. 2 Entertain, 2011. DVD.

  59. Stanley Richards, ed. The Best Short Plays 1970. New York: Chilton, 1970. There was also discussion with Warner Brothers about a possible American television production but this seems not to have come to anything. Rattigan Papers: British Library, Add. MSS. 74471.

  60. Alan Bryce. Letter to Michael Imison. 30 October 1974. Rattigan Papers: British Library, Add. MSS. 74471.

  61. [Untitled article.] Sunday Times. 1 February 1976. Production File: The Browning Version, King’s Head Theatre, January 1976, V&A Blythe House Archive.

  62. He toyed with the rather unmellifluous name ‘Rosemary Bartlethwaite’ in the manuscript of Duologue. Rattigan Papers: British Library, Add. MSS. 74471.

  63. Terence Rattigan. The Collected Plays of Terence Rattigan: Volume Two. London: Hamish Hamilton, 1953, p. xii.

  64. See my introduction to Terence Rattigan. Cause Célèbre. London: Nick Hern Books, 2011, pp. xxvi–xxvii for a detailed account of Edith’s resemblance to Vera.

  List of Rattigan’s Produced Plays

  TITLE

  BRITISH PREMIERE

  NEW YORK PREMIERE

  First Episode

  (with Philip Heimann)

  Q Theatre, Kew,

  11 Sept 1933

  (transferred to Comedy

  Theatre, 26 Jan 1934

  Ritz Theatre,

  17 Sept 1934

  French Without Tears

  Criterion Theatre,

  6 Nov 1936

  Henry Miller Theatre,

  28 Sept 1937

  After the Dance

  St James’s Theatre,

  21 June 1939

  Follow My Leader

  (with Anthony Maurice,

  alias Tony Goldschmidt)

  Apollo Theatre,

  16 Jan 1940

  Grey Farm

  (with Hector Bolitho)

  Hudson Theatre,

  3 May 1940

  Flare Path

  Apollo Theatre,

  13 Aug 1932

  Henry Miller Theatre,

  23 Dec 1942

  While the Sun Shines

  Globe Theatre,

  24 Dec 1943

  Lyceum Theatre,

  19 Sept 1944

  Love in Idleness

  Lyric Theatre,

  20 Dec 1944

  Empire Theatre

  (as O Mistress Mine),

  23 Jan 1946

  The Winslow Boy

  Lyric Theatre,

  23 May 1946

  Empire Theatre,

  29 Oct 1947

  Playbill (The Browning

  Version and Harlequinade)

  Phoenix Theatre,

  8 Sept 1948

  Coronet Theatre,

  12 Oct 1949

  Adventure Story

  St James’s Theatre,

  17 March 1949

  A Tale of Two Cities

  (from Charles Dickens,

  with John Gielgud)

  St Brendan’s College

  Dramatic Society,

  Clifton, 23 Jan 1950

  Who is Sylvia?

  Criterion Theatre,

  24 Oct 1950

  Final Test (TV)

  BBC TV, 29 July 1951

  The Deep Blue Sea

  Duchess Theatre,

  6 Mar 1952

  Morosco Theatre,

  5 Nov 1952

  The Sleeping Prince

  Phoenix Theatre,

  5 Nov 1953

  Coronet Theatre,

  1 Nov 1956

  Seperate Tables (The

  Table by the Window and

  Table Number Seven)

  St James’s Theatre,

  22 Sept 1954

  Music Box Theatre,

  25 Oct 1956

  Variation on a Theme

  Globe Theatre,

  8 May 1958

  Ross

  Theatre Royal Haymarket

  12 May 1960

  Eugene O’Neill Theatre

  26 Dec 1961

  Joie de Vivre (with Robert

  Stolz and Paul Dehn)

  Queen’s Theatre,

  14 July 1960

  Heart to Heart (TV)

  BBC TV, 6 Dec 1962

  Man and Boy

  Queen’s Theatre,

  4 Sept 1963

  Brooks Atkinson Theatre,

  12 Nov 1963

  Ninety Years On (TV)

  BBC TV, 29 Nov 1964

  Nelson – A Portrait in

  Miniature (TV)

  Associated Television,

  21 Mar 1966

  All On Her Own (TV)

  (adapted for the stage as

  Duologue)

  BBC 2, 25 Sept 1968

  A Bequest to the Nation

  Theatre Royal Haymarket

  23 Sept 1970

  High Summer (TV)

  Thames TV, 12 Sept 1972

  In Praise of Love (After

  Lydia and Before Dawn)

  Duchess Theatre,

  27 Sept 1973

  Morosco Theatre,

  10 Dec 1974

  Cause Célèbre (radio)

  BBC Radio 4,

  27 Oct 1975

  Duologue

  King’s Head Theatre,

  21 Feb 1976

  Cause Célèbre (stage)

  Her Majesty’s Theatre,

  4 July 1977

  Less Than Kind

  Jermyn Street Theatre,

  20 January 2011

  WHO IS SYLVIA?

  Who is Sylvia? was first produced at the Criterion Theatre, London, on 24 October 1950, with the following cast:

  MARK

  Robert Flemyng

  WILLIAMS

  Esmond Knight

  DAPHNE

  Diane Hart

  SIDNEY

  Alan Woolston

  ETHEL

  Diana Allen

  OSCAR

  Roland Culver

  BUBBLES

  Diana Hope

  NORA

  Diane Hart

  DENIS

  David Aylmer

  WILBERFORCE

  Roger Maxwell

  DORIS

  Diane Hart

  CHLOE

  Joan Benham

  CAROLINE

  Athene Seyler

  Producer

  Anthony Quayle

  Set and Costume Designer

  William Chappell

  Characters

  MARK

  WILLIAMS

  DAPHNE

  SIDNEY

  ETHEL

  OSCAR


  BUBBLES

  NORA

  DENIS

  WILBERFORCE

  DORIS

  CHLOE

  CAROLINE

  ACT ONE

  Summer 1917. About 8:00 p.m.

  ACT TWO

  Spring 1929. About 6:30 p.m.

  ACT THREE

  Winter 1950. About 6:00 p.m.

  The action of the play passes in a flat in Knightsbridge.

  ACT ONE

  A first-floor flat in Knightsbridge. Large windows look on to a quiet street. Door backstage leads into hall, and another into bedroom. The room has an air of bachelor distinction, the furniture being considerably better chosen and displayed than the furnishings, which are rather drab and ordinary; some good pictures, mainly Dutch landscapes, a bronze head of a girl, not too conspicuously placed.

  The time is about eight o’clock of a summer evening in 1917. The light has begun to fade but, as the curtain rises, we can see the dining table has been laid in the centre of the room, with two places. The room is empty.

  There is the sound of the front door closing and after a moment MARK enters. He is thirty-five and plainly goes to a tailor in or near Savile Row. He is wearing a dinner jacket, single-breasted, and a white waistcoat, and is carrying an object under his arm. This, as he removes the paper, is revealed to be a bottle of champagne, which he unwraps and places on the sideboard. Then he inspects the table, making a couple of meticulous changes. He next looks round the room, paying particular attention to the sofa, whose cushions he rearranges. Then, on a sudden impulse, he goes to the window and pulls the heavy curtains, leaving the room in darkness for a moment, until he turns on the lights. These, after a second’s consideration, he dims discreetly. Then he rearranges a small vase of flowers on the table. He stands back and examines the effect, but not entirely satisfied, sits in one of the chairs at the table. Mouthing soundlessly he makes animated conversation to the other chair, and we see that he has to lean his head to one side to circumvent the flowers. He therefore removes the vase.

  Now, after a final glance round the room, he appears moderately satisfied. He takes a cigarette from a case, lights it, and goes briskly to a telephone.

  MARK (into telephone). Hullo… I want Sloane 7838, please. (As he waits he still glances round the room.) Cunliffe?… Yes… Is Her Ladyship there?… Yes, please… Hullo, darling… Darling, I’m afraid the most awful thing has just happened. A long dispatch from Mesopotamia has just this second come in, and it looks as if I won’t be able to get home till very late… Oh no, midnight, I should think, at the very earliest. It might be much later than that, even… Who? Oh, your father. Well, tell him how very sorry I am to miss him, will you?… Oh no, darling, don’t bother to do that – I’ll have a snack here in the office… Oh no, that’s all right. One has to get used to these things in wartime… Mesopotamia… Well, it’s the cypher they use, you see, one of the most complicated there is in the world… Yes. Kiss Denis for me – tell him to be good… Oh, did he? (Submissively.) Oh yes, darling, I quite agree. Very naughty. Yes, darling. I’ll talk to him in the morning… Oh yes, very severe, I promise… I’m so sorry about tonight… Goodnight. (Rings off and jiggles the telephone for the Exchange.) Hullo… Are you there? Yes, I’ve finished, thank you. I want Victoria 8440… Hullo, Foreign Office? This is Lord St Neots. Who’s in charge of the Middle East department tonight? Well, it’s a simple question, I should have thought you could have given me a reasonably simple answer… Look, dear lady, this is Lord St Neots. I work at the Foreign Office. I have worked at the Foreign Office for the past nine years. I simply want to know… Now how the dickens can I identify myself on the telephone? I am Viscount St Neots, the son of the Earl of Binfield. I am married. I have one child, a boy, aged five, named Denis, and I live at No. 58 Belgrave Square. Now, dear lady, if there is anything else I can tell you about myself I should be only too happy… (Furiously.) Well, you can tell Mr Mole from me that he’s a blithering idiot. If I were a German spy I wouldn’t go dashing about ringing up the Foreign Office asking who’s in charge of the Middle East department. I’d jolly well know who was in charge of the Middle East department. Come to think of it, I’d probably be in charge of the Middle East department. (Rather pleased at this one, and chuckles appreciatively.) Very well, ring off, if you wish. I have said my say. (Jiggles the telephone again.) Hullo, Exchange? Get me Victoria 8440 again, would you? I got cut off… (In an assumed voice most inexpertly and suspiciously guttural.) Hullo, Foreign Office. Please might with the Middle Eastern department to speak? Hullo, Middle East? (In his normal voice.) Who’s in charge there tonight? Mr Seymour? Good. Put me on to him, would you… Charley? This is Mark – do me a little favour, would you? If my home rings up, I’m with you, deciphering a long dispatch about Mesopotamia, and can’t talk for fear of dropping a stitch… What… That’s better, isn’t it? Gone out for a cup of coffee. You obviously have experience… No. I have none – honestly I haven’t. First time in seven years. Believe it or not, it’s true… No. Not ashamed of myself, yet. Tomorrow, perhaps. Not now… Oh, by the way, Charley, if my home should ring you’d better have this number, hadn’t you. It’s Sloane… Damn, I’ve forgotten it. I know it so well, too. No, it’s not on the receiver… I tell you what. It’s in the book under the name of Oscar Philipson – got that? Oscar Philipson, and the address is 12 Wilbraham Terrace, Knightsbridge… Yes, that’s right. Thank you, Charley, I hope I shall be able to do the same for you one day… (As an afterthought.) Oh, by the way, give my best to your wife.

  WILLIAMS, OSCAR PHILIPSON’s manservant, enters. He is small, neat, rugged, and (for he is an ex-hatman) his ‘sirs’and ‘my lords’are military rather than domestic.

  WILLIAMS. Oh, you’re here, my lord.

  MARK. Hullo, Williams.

  WILLIAMS. I didn’t know. I was just going out. I hope everything’s all right?

  MARK (rising). Yes, thank you, Williams. Perfect, I think.

  WILLIAMS. Of course, if you’d have let me know a bit earlier I could have made plans to stay in –

  MARK. That’s quite all right. As a matter of fact I’m very glad you’re going out. I mean, it’s kind enough of you to do what you have, anyway –

  WILLIAMS. Oh, that’s all right, my lord. I was glad of the chance, to be honest. One gets a bit fed up with nothing to do all day – just sitting alone there in the kitchen, waiting for the Captain’s next leave –

  MARK. Any news of him, Williams?

  WILLIAMS. I had a line from him about a week ago – giving me notice as it happens – of course, joking, you know the Captain –

  MARK. What had you done?

  WILLIAMS. Well, in my last letter to him I said to him how I heard the war was going wonderfully and he’d be sure to be home for Christmas.

  MARK. And Captain Philipson took umbrage, did he?

  WILLIAMS. Well, out in France, as you know, things look a bit different to the way they do from here. I remember when I was on the Somme, just before I got my packet, I used to get proper fed up with letters from home, telling me how gloriously I was advancing when I’d been stuck in the same ruddy hole for three weeks.

  MARK. I didn’t know you were on the Somme – I just missed it.

  WILLIAMS. Did you get a blighty?

  MARK. No. I was only out there by kind permission of the Foreign Office; and last year they withdrew their kind permission – that’s all.

  WILLIAMS. I suppose you get white feathers?

  MARK. Enough to stuff a pillow.

  WILLIAMS. So do I. One old duck said to me yesterday on the Tube – ‘Young man,’ she said, ‘why aren’t you in uniform?’ And I said, ‘Because there’s a ruddy war on, you silly old sausage.’ Proper mad, she got. Called the conductor and all. (Chuckles at the reminiscence.) Well, my lord, is there anything more I can do for you, because I ought to be getting along?

  MARK. No, thank you, Williams. I’m very grateful.

  WILLIAMS. Oh – do you see I put the lady out for
you?

  MARK. The lady?

  WILLIAMS. The bust.

  WILLIAMS points to the bronze girl’s head on the pedestal.

  MARK. Oh yes.

  WILLIAMS. The Captain had it in the lumber room. If you ask me he’s never properly appreciated it. I think it’s beautiful.

  MARK. Thank you, Williams.

  WILLIAMS. Must be wonderful to be able to do things like that.

  MARK. Oh, well, it’s only a hobby, you know –

  WILLIAMS. It ought to be more than a hobby, if you ask me. It ought to be an occupation. If I could sculpt or paint or something like that, I’d be at it all day long. Of course I’ve got my reading, but that isn’t quite the same thing. (Seeing the champagne.) I see you brought the champagne. I know Captain Philipson would have been only too glad to have let you have one of his – (Picking up champagne and putting it in ice bucket.)

  MARK. No. That would be stretching his hospitality too far. By the way, I’ve written to Captain Philipson telling him about tonight –

  WILLIAMS. Yes, my lord.

  MARK. Oh, and Williams. (Slightly embarrassed.) Just supposing I – er – got caught in a sudden storm, or something and – er – wanted to stay the night, would that be all right, do you think?

  WILLIAMS. Yes, my lord, of course. Only too easy. The bed is made up.

  MARK. Of course, I probably won’t be needing it at all –

  WILLIAMS. You never know, my lord. It’s very hot tonight. I should say there’s a good deal of thunder in the air. Just leave a note for me, would you, so I’ll know.