Stevie (1978) - full transcript

"Life is like a
railway station," Stevie said.

"The train of birth
brings us in,

"the train of death
will carry us away."

Hmm.

All aboard for a trip
to the suburbs.

[TRAIN HONKING]

[INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC]

[WHISTLING]

I'm back. I'm back.
Where are you?

Up here.

Just coming.



Ah, you're home
nice and early.

I'm utterly exhausted.
Worn to a frazzle.

Well, the kettle's on.
I'll make a pot of tea.

-Anything to eat?
-Battenberg cake and
some ginger nuts.

-How lovely.
-Give me your coat.

-Anything happened today?
-No. No.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

[SIGHS]

I think when I'm asked
at the Day of Judgment

what I remember best,
what has ruled my entire life,

I shall say, "Being tired,
too tired for words."

I've been at the BBC
recording a story.

I don't know why I bothered.
It was a complete
waste of time.

The Producer seemed to have
quite a different idea
about the story from mine,



and we got more and more
at cross purposes,

and a Mr. Hall,
who was sitting on
the floor listening,

said he couldn't
make head or tail of it.

Head or tail of what?

This is my Aunt.

Who are you talking about?

Well, his name was Mr. Hall.

-Head or tail of what?
-A short story I'd written.

Huh. Poor man.
I know how he felt.

[LAUGHING]

I call her the Lion of Hull.

She looks very lion-like,
don't you think?

The dress is new by the way.

It reminds me of one of those
seed packets, you know,

Carters tested seeds.

I call it Every One Came Up.

Where are my glasses, Peggy?

In the fruit bowl.

All these books,
just look at them.

Not a literary person,
thank God.

I've never seen so much stuff
and nonsense in all me life.

[TAP DRIPPING]

That stupid kitchen tap
needs a new washer.

Tarnation take it. Huh.

-Where's me cushion?
-Hmm?

Oh, it's here. Sorry.

Eh, you can never find
anything in this house.

Smart writing people

think it's not at all chic
to live in the suburbs
with an aunt,

but I don't care
what they think.

I've never cared about chic
things. Fashion and so on.
What does it matter?

I love Aunt and Aunt loves me.
That's what really matters.

-Tea, dear?
-Thank you, darling.

Oh.

-Good?
-Mmm-hmm.

Ah.

Well, where shall I begin?

Begin at the beginning
and go through to the end.

-That's what I always say.
-Yes, and quite right, too.

[LAUGHS]

The 20th of September, 1902.

That was the beginning for me.

The 20th of September. Virgo.

Rather a prim sign,
I always think so.

I like to pretend to be
a bit of Libra, too.

[LAUGHS] A Yorkshire lass.

Born in Hull.
34 De La Pole Avenue.

Such a nice house.

We left when I was only three.
So I don't
remember much about it.

Just wearing a pale blue coat

and eating strawberries
and cream on a vast stretch
of bright green grass

with people in white on it.

A cricket club tea.

-Of course, yes,
it must have been.
-[LAUGHS]

So on a fine
September afternoon in 1906,

my mother, my aunt,

my 5-year-old sister,
Molly, and I came here
to Palmers Green.

All those years ago.
It doesn't seem possible.

She was a romantic girl,
my mama.

And because of this,
she made what they call
an unsuitable marriage.

If your grandma had lived,
your mother and father
would never have met,

let alone married.

Where would Stevie
have been then, poor thing?

He was a great believer
in independence,
was your grandfather.

"Decide for yourself,"
he was always saying.

Huh, and that's just
what she did.

Oh, there's me paper.

My mother was a romantic girl,

so she had to marry a man
with his hair in curl,

who subsequently became
my unrespected papa.

But that is
a long time ago now.

What folly it is that
daughters are
always supposed to be

in love with papa.
It wasn't the case with me.

I couldn't take to him at all,
but he took to me.

What a sad fate to befall
a child of three.

I sat upright
in my baby carriage

and wished Mama hadn't made
such a foolish marriage.

I tried to hide it,
but it showed in
my eyes unfortunately.

A fortnight later,
Papa ran away to sea.

He used to come on leave.
It was always the same.

I could not grieve,

but I think I am
somewhat to blame.

Oh, Pancho Gonzalez
is doing well,

into the quarter finals.

So with my father
sailing the seven seas,

we came here to Avondale Road.

After we'd settled in,
we went round the corner
to our landlord's shop.

He was a plumber.

A tall, thin man, who looked
like Charles the Second.

We went round the corner
to arrange a few things
and to get me weighed.

[CHUCKLES] You were always
being weighed for one reason
or another.

He had the most enormous
weighing machines,
I remember.

The kind you use
to weigh luggage.

AUNT:
''You're a fine package,"
he said,

lifting you onto the scales.

"I came on a train," you said.

"I came on a train
and then on a tram."

[LAUGHS] And so you did.
Bless your heart.

Well, he was wrong,
that plumber.
I wasn't a fine package.

I was always being ill.

Yes, that's why
I came to London.

Someone had to look after you,
with your mother being
so weak and poorly.

Yes, I often wished
I could have been
a bright, healthy child.

But I wasn't, so that's that.

Fate I suppose. Stevie's fate.

Fate indeed.

Oh, I believe in fate.
I really do.

"It's like a man playing
cards." Stevie said.

There's the man himself
and the cards he's playing,

and another man
watching over his shoulder.

The player is life,

the watcher is the spirit,

and the cards are fate.

Stevie's fate was unfortunate,
to say the least.

It was tuberculosis.

I spent months and months
in a Children's Hospital.

I first thought of suicide
when I was eight.

The thought
cheered me up wonderfully.

"Life may be treacherous,"
I remember thinking,

"but you can
always rely on death."

It also occurred to me that if
one can remove oneself from
the world at any time,

why particularly now?

I realized death is
my servant, he's got to
come if I call him.

I think every sensitive young
child should learn this.

It's a great source
of strength and comfort.

-More tea, Peggy dear?
-Oh, yes please.

Eventually, of course,
I got better

and came back home
to Avondale Road.

How sweet the birds
of Avondale are.

Avondale of Avondale.

How sweet
the birds of Avondale,

who swoop and sing and call.

[BOTH LAUGHING]

My sister, Molly,
and I thought
this was a beautiful house,

-and a beautiful garden,
And so it was. Well, so it is.
-Yes.

Although our more cautious
elders would only sign a lease

for the first six months,
we've been here ever since.

Mind you, it was
a country place then,

with woods stretching
all the way up
to Southgate station.

But I still find it
very dreamy and poetical.

The people are charming, too.

They have a helpful,
non-interfering politeness,

which is very like
old Chinese courtesy.

-Is it, er, 6:00 yet?
-Hmm?

Uh, it's 20 to.

Oh, soon be time
to do the vegetables.

Two old ladies lived
next door to us then.

-Miss Jessie.
-Miss Jessie.

[TOGETHER] And Miss Emily.

Miss Jessie was always very
busy doing missionary work.

She was forever collecting
clothes for the heathens.

She was a very
bright, happy person,

unlike her sister, Miss Emily,
who was full of
doom and despair.

It was from Miss Emily
that we first learnt about
the White Slave Traffic.

-Yes. Your mother was
very cross about it.
-Mmmm.

AUNT: "I've told you, Peggy,"
I remember her
saying to you.

"I've told you never to speak
to strangers in the street,
or to take sweets from them.

"So run along
and do as I tell you

"and don't worry a head about
the White Slave Traffic."

But it was too late.
Miss Emily had fired
my imagination.

-Huh.
-"If a lady comes up to you,"
she said,

"If a lady comes up to you
in a closed cab
and leans out of the window

"and asks you to get in
with her, don't you have
anything to do with her."

Then she clasped
hold of my hand
and pulled me up tight.

I can still remember
her old lady smell.

Lavender and moth balls,
dusty velvet ribbon.

Those menthol lozenges
she always used to suck.

Oh, yes. [LAUGHS]

Occasionally the faint
smell of her old dog
clinging to her skirt.

"Don't you have anything
to do with her," she'd said.

"She's the
White Slave Traffic."

But what would happen
if one yielded
to the blandishments

of this strange lady
in a closed cab.

Oh, that we didn't know.

-I've never heard
such nonsense.
-[LAUGHS]

Maybe not.
I believed every word of it.

Stuff and nonsense
you should've known better.

Well, I wasn't
very old, was I?
Seven or eight at the most.

-Old enough to know better.
-Oh.

You were at school after all.

-That's right, so I was.
-MMmm.

So I was.

Schoolgirl Stevie. [LAUGHS]

We had a most unusual
headmistress I remember.
What was her name?

-What was whose name?
-Our headmistress.

Tall woman, wore glasses.

I've no idea. Quite forgotten.

Oh, well, it doesn't matter.

She was a Quaker lady,
I remember that.

A Quaker lady with
a true devotion for teaching.

She believed in discipline
and had a high...

Well, some people might say
a rather simple moral code.

She used to recite her
own moralistic verses
to us at morning prayers.

"I wish that I were some
beautiful land

"called the Land Of
Beginning Again,

"where all our mistakes
and all our heartaches

"and all of our
poor, foolish pain

"could be dropped like
a shabby coat at the door

"and never put on again.
No never more."

Oh, that's rather good.

We didn't like that one.
We thought it was soppy.

-Oh.
-But there was a fine
touch of melodrama

about one of our
headmistress's favorites,
which went...

How was it?

"'Tomorrow,' she told her
conscience, 'tomorrow
I'll try and be good.

"'Tomorrow I'll think
as I ought.
Tomorrow I'll do as I should.

"'Tomorrow I'll conquer
the passions that keep me
from heaven away,'

"But ever her conscience
whispered one word
and one only. 'Today.'

"Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow.

"And thus through the years
it went on.

"Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow.

"Till youth, like a shadow,
was gone.

"Till age and her passions
had written the message of
fate on her brow.

"And forth from the shadows
came death

"with the terrible syllable...

[SHOUTS] "No!"

Peggy dear, please.

-You frightened
the life out of me.
-Mmm.

We liked that one.

Our headmistress, like more
professional readers of verse,

didn't pull her punches when
it came to expression.

That "Now"
fairly shocked us all.

Beans or carrots, Peggy?

-What are we having?
-Lamb.

Oh, beans then, please.

Beans it is.

Actually I was rather
mal vue at school, and er,

and I'm sure with reason.

Though I would rather
have been thought
naughty than stupid.

I think perhaps it was because
I was too easily bored.

Even now I sometimes
indulge in the utmost
limit of boredom,

until the sound of
the telephone ringing is
like an Angel of Grace

breaking in on the orgy
of boredom to which
my soul is committed.

Hmm. Oh, but by and large,
I'm a forward looking girl.

I don't stay where I am.
"Left, right, be bright,"
as I once said in a poem.

Of course, that's on
days when I'm one big bounce
and have to go careful

so as not to be a nuisance.

Above all,
I try to avoid being
too despairing.

I try to remember what they
used to say in the 1300s.

"Accidie poisons
the soul stream."

[CHILDREN CHANTING
INDISTINCTLY]

[SOMBER MUSIC]

Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
let down your hair.

It is I, your beautiful lover,
who am here.

And when I come up this time,
I will bring
a rope ladder with me.

And then we can
both escape into the
dark wood immediately.

Cool as a cucumber,
calm as a millpond,

sound as a bell was Mary when
she went to the Wishing Well.

She has not been
seen since then.

If you ask me,
she'll not be seen again.

I am a frog.
I live under a spell.

I live at the bottom
of a green well.

I have been a frog now
for a hundred years,

and in all this time
I have not shed many tears.

I am happy. I like the life.

Can swim for many a mile.

When I have hopped
to the river
and am forever agile.

"Twas the voice
of the Wanderer,"
I heard her exclaim.

You have weaned me, too,
soon you must nurse me again.

She taps as she passes
each window pane.

Pray does she not know
that she taps in vain.

No man has seen her,
this pitiful ghost.

And no woman, either,
but heard her at most.

Sighing and tapping
and sighing again.

You have weaned me too soon.

You must nurse me again.

Yes, there is a lot of sadness

in these childhood poems, but,

that's because you soon
realize how brief it all is.

Schooldays, summer holidays
by the seaside,

those cloudless
September afternoons.

Sooner or later, adult fears
are bound to seep through.

Hey ho, indeed they are.

Sooner or later,
you realize you're just
another human being.

Nothing special,

just an ordinary mortal
like everyone else.

What a terrifying
thought that is.

I was still very young
when my mother died.

She had suffered greatly,
poor, dear Mama.

She made an
unsuitable marriage.

Oh, I'm sure my father
found it unsuitable, too.

Unsuitable marriages breed
the Stevie's of this world,

and a great many
other troubles as well.

The nurse said my mother
died quickly, in a minute.

How long is that minute?

Tender only to one.
Tender and true.

The petals swing
to my fingering.
Is it you, or you, or you?

Tender only to one,
I do not know his name.

And the friends who fall
to the petal's call,
may think my love to blame.

Tender only to one,
this petal holds a clue.

The face it shows,
but too well knows,
who I am tender to.

Tender only to one.

Last petal's latest breath.

Cries out aloud
from his icy shroud

his name.

His name is Death.

[BLOWING RASPBERRY]

[IN SINGSONG] Sherry!

What's that?

-I've poured the sherry.
-Oh, just coming.

Oh, how lovely.

Nothing nicer. Well, not much.

[LAUGHS]

[CLEARS THROAT]

There was once a woman
called Miss Hogmanimy,

which is certainly a name
you'd want to
get married out of.

She had a bright smile,
a highly polished face,
an un-provocative blouse,

and was terribly wrought up

over B-A-B-I-E-S,

and the way they are born.

And she gave up her whole life

to going around giving
free lectures,
complete with lantern slides,

to young girls of school,
or school-leaving age.

She had a most unusual way
of talking, I remember.

As though she had lost all her
puff in an uphill climb.

A sort of breathless whisper.

You're talking about that
Miss, um, what's-her-name.

-Hogmanimy.
-That stupid woman.

All that nonsense
she used to talk.

Oh, her heart
was in the right place.

Stuff and nonsense.
Where's me sherry?

-Here.
-Oh, thanks.

I don't hold with such things.

You should have
stayed at home.

But of course, I didn't.

I went along to the
School Chapel with the rest
of the senior girls,

eager to know
exactly what happened.

Yes, I can see it all.

Giggling and laughing
and carrying on.

14-year-old, why
do you giggle and dote?

14-year-old,
why are you such a goat?

I'm 14 years old,
that is the reason.

-I giggle and dote in season.
-Hmm.

People like Miss Thingummy
do more harm
than good, if you ask me.

Oh, what nice sherry.

-It's Tio Pepe.
-Oh, very nice.

Hmm.

Well, to listen to Miss
Hogmanimy you'd think
knowing how

B-A-B-I-E-S are
born was enough

to solve all the problems
of adolescence.

She kept on about
how beautiful it all is.

She used to draw sections
on the blackboard and then

stand her stout body in front
of them blushing furiously.

And the upshot of it was,

she wanted us to sign a paper

promising that we would
never drink anything

but ginger beer and cola

-and allied liquids.
-Hmm.

It would have been
better off playing hockey.

Mmm, poor woman.

She tried hard,
but her wits were fuddled.

I came away from the lecture
with a profound aversion
to the whole subject

and a vaguely sick feeling

whenever I heard of friends
or relatives about to
produce offspring.

I used to say a prayer for
them and wash my hands off it.

At the same time,

I had plenty of
deep down hopes

that I wouldn't
end up intacta,

like those depressed
females who never got asked,
never got the chance,

and went around reeking
of their unholy continence.

As I grew older I guessed
copulation must be
first class fun,

but I'd no idea
how one set about it.

Or indeed how one found
a suitable mate.

[LAUGHS] Just like
that girl in the paper.

What girl?

-Didn't I tell you?
-No.

-Oh, I'm sure I told you.
-Not a word.

Well, this girl wrote
to the paper and said

she'd seen a young man at
the tennis club she'd joined.

So as to not feel lonely, and
to get herself fixed up

with a house,
or a flat, and a baby.

Anyway this young man
would do, she thought,

he was all right.

The question was,

how could
she get him to propose?

They hadn't actually
spoken, you see.

So how could she
make him propose?

Well, they published an answer
and they said,

"Arrange to play
the last set with him,

"then linger hopefully and
perhaps he will see you home."

Oh, what a wonderful phrase,
"Linger hopefully!"

"Linger hopefully

"and perhaps he will
see you home."

[LAUGHS]

Can't you just see it?

Up and down the suburbs,
up and down
the provincial towns,

up and down India and
Singapore and Shanghai?

There are girls who have
arranged to play the last set
and are...

[TOGETHER]
Lingering hopefully!

[BOTH LAUGHING]

Oh, well, thank God
those days are over.

No more hopeful
lingering for me.

Well, it wasn't all hopeful
lingering, as I recall.

There was quite a bit of
sitting up in the bath,

crying your eyes out
over some boy or another.

Oh, that was Freddy,
he comes later.

-Karl was first.
-Karl?

Don't you remember Karl?

He arrived one
Christmas Day with
a potted plant for you

and a two volume translation
of Faust for me.

Oh, what a dreadful
translation it was.

I'll just go
and look at the meat.

-Best end of neck.
-Oh.

Feeling hungry, Peggy dear?

-Yes, I am rather.
-Good girl.

Dear, oh, dear.

That Geranium
isn't very happy.

Hmm. I'll give it
a drink of water.

At the foot of the
Duke of York steps Karl said,

"I love you, Stevie."

It was December.
There was snow on the ground.

"I love you, Stevie."

[CHUCKLES]

Oh, my sweet Karl.
I can see you now,

with all of the with all of
sleeping happily dreaming
Germany in your blue eyes.

A student of philosophy
at the University of Berlin.

[SPEAKS IN GERMAN]

Later we went for a walk
in the country.

We walked in the rain,
along a country road.

There was a dead vole
lying on the ground,

with its paws sticking
upright, like a Christian.

Now vole art dead
and done is all thy bleeding.

We went up the path to this

forlorn-looking empty house.

Inside there was a musty smell

reminiscent of
murder, suicide,

and avarice.

We found some dusty sacking
and lay down
in each other's arms.

"I love you, Stevie."

He loved me, but he didn't
like the English.

I loved him,
but didn't like the Germans.

"The Germans are neurotic,"
I said, "and weak.

"Oh, look at Berlin, swarming
with uniforms and Swastikas.

"And they are cruel
with a vicious cruelty.

"Not battle cruelty, but of
doing-people-to-death-
in-lavatories cruelty.

"How evil is Germany today?"

And so we quarreled.
And so we parted.

It won't be long now.

-Time for another sherry?
-Yes, please.

You're smoking too much,
Peggy. It's bad for you.
Bad for your tubes.

[BOTH COUGH]

Yes, that's what I mean.

Lion Aunt always calls me
Peggy, never Stevie.

Well, what's wrong with the
name you were christened
with, I'd like to know?

-Nothing's wrong with it.
-Well, then?

Stevie began
as a joke, really.

Someone saw me out riding
and thought I looked like
Steve Donoghue, the jockey.

Steve became Stevie,
and it stuck.

Peggy you were christened
and Peggy you shall remain.

Hmm.

-Where's my paper?
-Oh, it's probably
behind your cushion.

Hmm.

After I left school,

I went to Mrs. Hoster's famous
Secretarial College,

and then I got a job

with Newnes, the publishers.

I've been there almost
the whole of my so called
ha-ha working life.

I find all this
capitalism's toil

very difficult and
very exasperating.

Well, my employers
are kindly people.

They never complain about my
writing during office hours.

Actually I have grown
rather fond of my boss.

Hmm.

He has a very
dry sense of humor.

I remember once telling him
about an article I'd read
in a newspaper

which said there was
three million four hundred
and twenty one thousand

five hundred and thirty three
illegitimate children
in the United Kingdom.

"Hoorah," he cried. "Who says
England's going pansy?"

[LAUGHS]

-Say what you like, I always
thought you'd marry Freddy.
-What?

AUNT: I can't think
why you didn't.

What on earth are you
talking about?

And don't try and shut me up.

I wasn't
the only one after all.

Not the only one what?

Person who thought
you'd marry Freddy.

Oh, marriage, marriage.
Always this talk of marriage.

Ha! You made a fine old
fuss when he went away.

-That's not the point.
-What is, then?

I'm not the marrying kind.
I never have been.

Well, you got engaged
to him fast enough.

I shifted my mother's ring
onto my engagement finger.

-That's all.
It was a game. Just a game.
-Nonsense.

I am a friendship girl,
not the marrying kind.

-Stuff and nonsense.
-It's true.

The very thought of marriage
makes me nervous.
It frightens me.

I've never heard such
rubbish in all my life.

Oh, she doesn't understand.
She never has. It is pointless
trying to explain.

I may look like
a pocket Hercules, ha-ha,

but I am dreadfully
low on energy.

And a tired person like me
can't respond to love.

Either it wears her out
and she'd rather be dead,

or else she sees it as
a last desperate chance clutch

on a hencoop in mid-Atlantic.

Oh!

Oh, the fights and ecstasies
of the spirit

and the sad pursuing bones.

I'll just go
and prod the joint.

Mint sauce
or red currant jelly?

I don't mind.

I thought you preferred
red currant.
I bought some specially.

I really don't mind.
You choose.

Eh, you are
a difficult girl sometimes.

Eh, you are
a difficult girl sometimes.

Anyone for tennis?

Freddy, dear,
how nice to see you.

-Hello, Stevie.
-I thought you had
a match this afternoon.

Rained off. Damn shame.
I was raring to go.

Come and sit down, dear.
Oh, what a pleasant surprise.

How are you, Miss Spear?
Keeping well?

Oh, yes, I mustn't grumble.
Well, I do. But I shouldn't.
You know how it is.

I do indeed. I do indeed.

Well, how are
your parents, Freddy?

Not too bad,
all things considered.

Dad's rheumatism's
been playing up a bit.

They always make me feel very
welcome in Freddy's house.

Such kind, solid people.

I'm often invited in for
tea after walks, eh.

There's his kind mother
and scones for tea.

And then they draw their
their chairs up to the fire

and there's a lot of talk
about how awfully common

the other people
in Palmers Green are.

How they eat their dinners
in the kitchen and sit
in their shirt sleeves.

Suburbs people
are always ashamed of being
suburbs people.

They are always
having to prove that they
are not like the others.

Oh, no. They're not like that.
Oh, no. Not like that.

They went up to town last week
with the, eh, Wentworths.

-You know the Wentworths?
-Yes, of course.

They saw the new, um,
Jack Buchanan show.
Very good they said.

-Dinner at the Troc
afterwards. Very jolly.
-[LAUGHS]

Eh, the Wentworth girl's
getting married, isn't she?

That's right. Next month.

Such a pretty girl.

I can't think why she
wasn't married years ago.

-Have you seen today's
paper, Freddy?
-FREDDY: No, Miss Spear.

People in Palmers Green
have an idea. Well, the
unmarried girls have an idea,

that if only they were married
it'd be all right.

And the married women think,
"Well, now I'm married,
so it is all right."

Well, sometimes
of course it is all right.

But sometimes they
have to work very hard
saying all the time,

"Well, now I'm married,
so it's all right.

"And Miss So-and-So
isn't married, and that's
not all right."

And the unmarried girls
are getting quite desperate.

Oh, yes, they are.
Getting quite desperate.

They keep saying over and
over, "If only I was married.
If only I was married."

It's like the refrain in
The Three Sisters.

It is the leitmotiv
of all their lives.

It is their Moscow.

They're having a bit of
a do on Saturday.

A tennis club do, you know,
drinks and so on.

-Oh, are you going?
-We're both going.

-Are we?
-Well, yes.
I took it for granted.

But you shouldn't take things
for granted like that.

Why on earth not?
You're engaged after all.

He'll have my heart.
If not by gift, his knife
shall carve it out.

He'll have my heart, my life.

I'll just go
and prod the joint.

Mint sauce
or red currant jelly?

Don't mind.

I thought you preferred
red currant.
I bought some specially.

I really don't mind.
You choose.

Eh, you're a difficult
girl sometimes.

-Pleased to see me?
-Oh, of course.

Pity about this damn rain.

I felt like
a biff this afternoon.

Mmm.

-Nice apples.
-[LAUGHS]

-Give us a kiss and
say you love me.
-Oh, not now.

-Well, she's in the kitchen.
She can't see us.
-Your mouth is full of apple.

-All gone.
-[LAUGHS]

No, Freddy please.

-What's the matter?
-Nothing.

You're in one of your moods.

I'm not in any sort of mood.

Is it because of...

Is it because of last night?
Is it?

You agreed. You said yes.
I didn't make you do it.
Did I?

-Well, what's wrong, then?
-Nothing.

Don't be daft.
Something's wrong.

What is it? Don't sulk.
Tell me.

[SIGHS]

Why did you ask
if I was enjoying it?

-What?
-Right in the middle, right in
the middle of everything,

you said,
"Are you enjoying it?"

-Did I?
-"Are you enjoying it, dear?"

Oh. Well, I'm sorry. Sorry,
I didn't mean to offend.

-Don't say that.
-Don't say what?

-I'm not offended.
-Well, what then?

Well, it's so typical. Don't
you see? It's so suburban.

Well, I am suburban.
So are you.

Oh, come on, Stevie.

-It's nothing
to get upset about.
-I'm not upset.

I'm frightened.

-Frightened of old Freddy?
-No. Of marriage.

Don't be such a chump.

It's true.

If I'm going to be a wife,
I want to be a good wife,

and I don't think
I'm up to it.

It's my tubercular glands.
I don't have the stamina.

That's just an excuse.

Don't you love me anymore?

Part of me does.

Oh, well, thanks very much.

Of course I love you.
You're so strong and safe
and comforting. It's only...

What?

Well, if we get married,

I won't be Stevie anymore.
I'll be Mrs. Freddy.
That's what frightens me.

Well, it's the same
for any other girl.

I am not "any other girl,"
I'm me.

You take so much for granted.

-Like what?
-I don't know. Everything.

You expect me to behave
a certain way,
think a certain way,

lead a certain kind of life.
I don't think I'm up to it.

I don't think I want to.

I'm a friendship girl,
you see?

The rhythm of friendship
is strong in my blood.

I must go, I must come back.
Here I am again.
Now I am going.

I love people,

but I love the thought and
memory of them just as much.

There comes a time
when I have to go away

and then there comes a time
when I have to come back.

It's a friendship rhythm.
I am not the marrying kind.
Don't you understand?

-Not a word.
-Oh.

I don't know what the hell
you're talking about.

If only we could be friends.

Friends? What do you mean
friends? Grow up, Stevie.

-Grow up?
-Yes, grow up.
You're like a child.

Living with your aunt.
Cossetted night and day.

That's not a proper way
of life for anyone.

And don't start all that
nose-in-the-air
arty-bohemian nonsense.

You know it doesn't
wash with me.

Oh, Freddy, how can we?
How can we marry?

It would be utterly foolish,
utterly suicidal.

You don't mean that.

Well, I do.

I see.

Very well,
if that's what you think.

Don't you?
Honestly, don't you?

Well, it could work.
If you changed,
it could work.

Why me? Why must I change?

Well, you'll have to,
sooner or later,
heavens above.

I mean, grown people don't
spend their lives in a cocoon,

writing poems
with an old maid aunt.

I don't like change.

Well, then you'll be lonely.

All right then,
I'll be lonely.

And you'll die alone,
you'll deserve to.

Little pets like you
deserve to be lonely.

Go to hell.

Go to hell yourself.

Go to hell!

[DOOR SLAMS]

FREDDY: Go to hell yourself.

It's like escaping from
a sunk submarine.

You must stand
absolutely still
and without panic

until the flood-waters
have covered your shoulders

and are creeping up
towards your mouth.

Only then, when your
escape-room is flooded
to drowning point,

can you shoot up
through the escape-funnel,

up and away, and it's over.

But when it's over,

then it's tearing inside,
it's...

Tearing in the belly, and
you wish you were dead,
and had never been born.

After Freddy left,

I ran a very hot bath
and just sat there,

the tears
dripping down my cheeks.

I just sat there,
my fringe all cock-awry,

and the tears dripping
down my cheeks
into the hot water.

It was as though the world
had come to a sad,
despairing, tearful end.

But of course, it hadn't.

Oh, one does things.
One goes to see friends,
one does one's work,

one fusses with this and that.

Kind friends tell you
time is the only doctor,
and it's true.

But he's a slow worker,
that time,

and no anaesthetist at all.

Suddenly you've
lost everything,

and the hours are long,

and only a thousand
hours will help to heal.

Would he might come again

and I upon his breast
again might lie.

Would I had not
in foolish wrath driven him
ever from my path.

Would the sun
the day's course over might

that same day's
lost dawn recover.

As vain as this,

vain prayers are all
vain prayers that would
past days recall.

Never shall sun now sunk away

rise up again on yesterday.

Never shall love

untimely slain

rise from the grave

and live again.

And so one is left...

Bitter, resentful, lonely...

With this sadness
deficiency feeling.

I tend to think
a great many people

carry this feeling around
with them all their lives.

A lot of people pretend,
out of bravery, I suppose,

that they're quite ordinary,
rather dull chaps.

But really, they don't feel at
all at home in the world.

They don't make
friends easily.

Oh, they laugh a lot and joke,

and their chums think
they're quite all right
and jolly nice, too.

But sometimes
they get so tired.

The brave pretense breaks down

and then they are lost.

I wrote a poem
about this once.

I got the idea
from a newspaper report
about a man...

Drowning.

[MELANCHOLY MUSIC]

Nobody heard him,
the dead man.

But still he lay moaning.

I was much further out
than you thought

and not waving, but drowning.

Poor chap,
he always loved larking.

And now he's dead.

It must have been too
cold for him.

"His heart gave way,"
they said.

Oh, no, no, no.

It was too cold always.

Still the dead one
lay moaning.

I was much too far out
all my life

and not waving, but drowning.

Thank you so much. Bye-bye.
Drive carefully.

Thank you so much.

[LAUGHS]

Oh, it's the wrong house.

Oh, dear-oh-dear parties!

I do love them,
but really, so tiring.

By the time I've got myself
ready, I'm totally exhausted

and I arrive looking like
the sheeted dead.

"'Miss Stevie Smith,"
they call, and in I walk,

the sheeted dead.

AUNT: Peggy?

Yes, it's me. I'm back.

And I never know what
to do with my hands.

I keep thinking,
"What shall I do
with my hands?"

Plus the ghastly business of
having to find the bathroom.

Whenever I'm excited,
I have to dash
straight for the bathroom.

Nervous enteritis,
they call it.

Straight for the bathroom.
It's so embarrassing.
Especially with strangers.

AUNT: Peggy, is that you?

Yes, it's me.

The Lion Aunt has become
a dreadful worrier.

She worries about
everything these days.

She doesn't go out much
either. Well, hardly at all.

She thinks the house stood
so much during the war

that now it mustn't be left.

I know how she feels.
It certainly stood
an awful lot.

The blitz, the doodle bugs.
Ooh, the V-2s.

The Home Guard used to
practice in the park,
I remember,

and we had a searchlight unit
by the allotments.

Hey ho. What a time
it was though.

The war, I mean.
My word, yes.

There were some people
called Rackstraws, I remember.

I've been calling and calling.

Oh, I thought you were
just saying hello.

Look at this. Another letter
from those Income Tax devils.

You hid it in the fruit bowl.

I don't suppose
it's very important.

Well, it looks important.
On Her Majesty's Service.

Mmm. What does it say?

-I don't know.
I haven't opened it.
-Why not?

I was waiting for you.

Oh, I...

What are you drinking?

Brandy. Do you want some?

No. No.
I'll have a cup of tea.

-Oh, I'll get it, shall I?
-No, no, no.

You stay where you are.
I'll get it.

-How was the party?
-Oh, very jolly.

Good.

She's getting old.
Becoming an old lady.

I must be careful not to give
the wrong impression.

About being
middle class, I mean.

Suburbs people are extremely
class-conscious and I don't
approve of that. Oh, no.

I was once in this terribly
refined teashop in Evesham,

when this poor, dirty old man
came shuffling in.

Well, he'd obviously
made a mistake.

He didn't realize how refined
this teashop was.

The tea shop lady
was very snooty.

This English woman
is so refined.

She has no bosom
and no behind.

She took the old man very
gingerly by the coat sleeve
and led him to the door.

She wasn't going to
have him there.

Oh, no,
that wouldn't do at all.

The poor old man
went shuffling out,

drips falling
from his damp nose,

and as he went he said,

"It's a fucking stuck up
tea shop."

I sometimes think
it's a fucking
stuck-up world.

And it's the middle classes,
I'm afraid, who are
the worst offenders.

Oh, yes. They are the ones
who fight to the last ditch

for the public schools
and the privilege idea,

because they think they are
so nearly about to grasp it
for themselves,

so nearly about to send
their kids to Eton.

Never a thought
for the kids, mind you.

Never a thought
for the kiddo's welfare.

Parents who barely can
afford it

should not send their
children to public schools.
Ill will reward it.

[GLASS BREAKING]

Are you all right?
What happened?

I broke a plate.

So I see.

[LAUGHS]
Come on, give it to me.
I'll do it.

-[CLICKING TONGUE]
-[LAUGHING]

I found a bit of
game pie in the larder.

I thought you were going
to have a cup of tea.

-What?
-You said you were going
to make yourself a pot of tea.

-Did I?
-Mmm.

I changed me mind.

Ah.

She keeps forgetting things.

-What?
-Nothing.

Look at it, Peggy.
Just look at it.

"Do you make any
repayment claims?"

-Well, do I?
-Let me see.

Oh, no. They've
obviously made a mistake.
They think you're a man.

-A man?
-Well, they've
called you "Esquire".

-Disgraceful.
-I shouldn't worry about it.

If cousin James was alive,
I'd get him onto this.

-Ignore it.
-He'd have known what to do.

Cousin James.

He was one of the high-ups
in Somerset House.

Very clever, very
conscientious, rather severe,

a socialist of the
Huxley-antimacassar period,

when it was the acme
of a man's rights to work
12 hours a day,

go to night school free
for another six,

and then sleep for six hours
on as hard a bed
as could be found.

He'd have sorted this out.

Yes, he probably would.
He was always taking up the
legal cudgels on her behalf.

Where's the writing paper?

Well, it's on the desk,
but don't do it now.
Do it in the morning.

Never put off till tomorrow
what you can do today.

I shall please meself
what I do.

I won't be
bossed about by anybody.

What was I going to say?

Oh, the Rackstraw's dog.

It was during the war,
you see, and these people,
the Rackstraws,

they lived nearby.

They gave their dog
to the army to be trained
for front line service.

But for some reason or
another, maybe it was one dog
too many for them,

this dog was sent back home.

Well, after his training
was complete,

he was sent back home.

The only trouble was he had
been taught fierce ways.

He'd been taught again
his wolf behavior.

He'd been taught
to fight and bite.

So when his fond master
went down the garden
path to meet him,

the dog bared his fangs,

leapt up and tried to bite the
throat of his loving friend.

So the man clubbed him
down with his heavy stick.

So the dog died, and they
buried him in the back garden.

On his gravestone they wrote,

"He died for
King and Country."

AUNT: Peggy dear,
I forgot the milk.

Yes, it's here.

Peggy!

Yes, I'll bring it.

For most of her life,
Stevie followed an
unchanging routine.

Every morning she caught
the train to her office
near the Strand,

and every evening
she traveled back
to Palmer Green,

to Avondale Road,
and to the Lion Aunt.

"Life is like
a railway station,"
Stevie said.

One day they brought
her home early,
in great distress.

Her wrists were bandaged.

She took the knife.
Its cruel edge would bite
into her flesh.

Had she the resolution
or the art

to bear the smart
and drive it to her heart?

Death, that sweet
and gentle friend,

failed to respond
to her summons.

Life continued.

[PANTING]

Peggy.

-Peggy.
-STEVIE: Coming.

Oh, tarnation, take it.

Peggy what are
you doing? Peggy?

Here we are.

A nice ham salad.

My soppy blanket's
on the floor.

So I see.

Come on. Oh...
Let's tuck you in.

-There we are.
How is that? Hmm?
-That's better.

There's a special treat
for pudding.

-What?
-Eat your salad first.

[LAUGHS] What is it, Peggy?

A special treat,
but eat that first.

[LAUGHS]

Oh, she can't do much
these days, poor darling.

So it's up to me
to run the house.

She abdicated
with great reluctance,
as you can imagine.

Now that I'm leading
a domestic sort of life,

I'd rather do
the washing up than write.

Housework is the most
marvelous excuse for not
doing anything else.

I mean clearing up a room,
throwing everything away.
It's marvelous.

Then I feel so tired
I go to sleep all afternoon.

I love going out
and buying the food

and stripping bits off and
hacking it up.

It's the most wonderful way of
getting rid of aggression.

And then, if I write, I write
in the back room after tea.

It's a nice room with
a good view of the garden,

and of the birds.

Is everything all right?

Lovely dear, thank you.

Dearest Lion Aunt.

I will never
leave you, darling,

to be eaten by the starling.

For I love you more than ever

in the wet and stormy weather.

-Tasty ham.
-It's York.

Yes, I thought so.

Very tasty.

Junket's her favorite.
Stevie's special junket.

When it's set, I grate
nutmeg all over the top

and then I add a tablespoon
of whisky, or brandy.
It's really delicious.

It was a house
of female habitation.

Two ladies fair
inhabited the house,

and they were brave.

For although fear knocked loud
upon the door,

and said he must come in,

they did not let him in.

Huh. And so we
passed our days.

Cooking, housework, writing,

the occasional
glass of sherry.

[LAUGHING]

I've, eh,
retired now of course.
Oh, I retired early.

Oh, it is so wonderful
not having to go to
the office every day.

I wasn't cut out
for the business world.
I never fitted in.

Oh, I've forgotten to
feed the birds, oh.

Oh, Peggy dear.

Oh.

[WHISTLING]

Lunchtime.

Lovely bacon rind.

Meal-o.

[BIRDS CHIRPING]

No, I never fitted in.

Like the little boy in
the commercial class

who was told to try his hand
at business correspondence.

He wrote, "Sadly we see
our customers falling away.

"But I hope we shall
always be friends.

"And so with love."

They soon put him right.
Oh, yes.

He was soon corrected,
but never me. Never Stevie.

I was always
slightly out of step.

I sometimes think perhaps
I should have been a pirate.

A North Sea pirate.

Well, we're all seafaring men
in our family.
After all even my poor father.

Oh, but it was good for me.
The office routine.

Mmm.

I needed the discipline.

If I'd never had to
work for my living,

I would have ended up some
invalidish sort of person,

never done any writing.

It was exile from domesticity
that produced my poems

and I enjoyed
a lot of it, too.

I loved the
stock exchange language

with its vaguely
religious undertones.

[CHANTING]
Conversion redemption

pegged at 60.

[LAUGHS] Marvelous.

And it wasn't
a taxing job either.

I used to sit in
my tiny office, writing my
books and my poems,

inviting my friends round for
tea and hot buttered toast.

My boss
never complained, never.

Never so much as
gave me a reproachful glance.

He was very kind.

Dear Sir Frank.

I can see him now
walking past my office door

in dark, dark mourning clothes

and dark, dark top hat.

He was forever going
to funerals.

"Another good man buried,"
he'd say

and walk on with somber tread.

There's not much to
say about the, eh,

suicide business,
It's something I'd rather
forget. Too much pain.

Too much remorse.

Not because of
the act itself, not just

because of the act itself,
but because of the pain
it inflicted on other people.

Aunt, Sir Frank,
my friends at the office.

It shouldn't have
happened there, not there.

Poor Sir Frank was
dreadfully upset,

but not surprised.

I doubt very much whether
he was greatly surprised.

"I'm rather disturbed about
this death feeling in your
poems, Stevie," he said.

He knew. Oh, yes.

He knew.

I've finished.

Peggy, I've finished.

-Peggy.
-What?

It's all gone.

Every mouthful.

Oh, that is splendid.

Now for pudding.

Junket! What a treat.

And some cream to go with it.

Oh, how kind of you, Peggy.

Oh, you have been a busy girl.

[BOTH LAUGH]

Yes, I do seem to be
frightfully busy these days.

Ooh, I've a lot
of darling friends

and I'm pretty
freely entertained.

I'm forever dashing off
to brasserie, bar,
club and pub.

And sometimes when Aunt's
feeling well enough
to cope on her own,

I go week-ending
in the country.

I love it
when people ask me back.

"Do come again, Stevie,"
they say.

I think they are the
best words of all.

"Do come again."

-This is delicious, Peggy.
-Good.

Oh, what a lovely lunch.

Ooh.

Lovely lunches follow
lovely breakfasts,

and at night it's
"God bless. Happy dreams."

Nothing changes.

Hey ho.

The other day,

I came across a copy

of King Solomon's Mines,

which I had been given
as a Sunday School prize.

And on the paper cover
at the back of the book,

I could still make out
my childish handwriting,

"Florence Margaret Smith,

"Avondale Road,
Palmers Green,
North London,

"England, Northwest Europe."

BOTH: "The World."

[LAUGHING]

Yes, I remember it, Peggy.

Well, I'm still here
and so is Palmers Green.

Mind you, it's a very large
bustling place these days.

And in a social sense
I suppose it has gone down.

But it's still the same high
lying suburb it ever was.

The top of our hill

is the highest point between
here and the Ural mountains,
or so they say.

-So it is.
-It is.

It is.

It is.

It is.

And it's still
a very active place.

We have our Art Circle,
Shakespeare Reading Society,

Players' Guild, the
Library Discussion Group,

tennis clubs, croquet clubs,
riding clubs, swimming clubs,

and branches of the
Labor party, Liberal party,

Communist party
and Primrose League.

We also have our fair share of
intellectual revolutionaries.

These people regard
the middle-classes

as obstructionalist
box dwellers

whose only thought
is for themselves
and for their families.

As if that were not
the common thought

of the greater part
of mankind.

They are the salt
of the earth, these
free-blowing revolutionaries.

But it's wise to remember

you can't live on a diet
of salt alone.

Of course,
things have changed,

and there are things I miss.

The lantern lectures
in the parish hall,

and those dark, mysterious
wonderful woods,

where trespassers
were forbidden,

which is now a housing estate.

And especially those brightly
painted advertisements

that used to decorate
the walls on our
Swiss-chalet railway station.

The Pickwick, the Owl
and the Waverley pen,

they come as a boon
and a blessing to men.

[SNORING]

[HUMMING]

She used to be such
a brisk managing person.

And now she
sleeps her life away.

There is little laughter
where you are going
and no warmth.

In that harsh landscape of
winter where rivers are frozen

and the only sound
is the crash
of winter tree-branches.

[CLEARS THROAT]

I don't mind much about
survival myself.

I mean, supposing we had to
go on forever, how awful.

Without death, I don't think
we could possibly endure life.

It's an escape
from pain of course.

It's also an escape from
pleasure too prolonged.

It's rather like being
drawn into a race of water

before it gets
to the waterfall.

It gets quicker and quicker
and more and more exciting,

and the older you get,
the more exciting it becomes.

I don't know why
people are taught that
death is such a calamity.

I think he must be
rather a dish.

Anyway we've all got to
go sometime.

Soon be time
for a glass of sherry.

I think of myself

as an Anglican agnostic,

if such a thing is possible.

I was brought up an Anglican.
I still like it very much.
I love the hymns.

I just don't
believe it anymore.

I reject the comfort
and sweetness of Christianity,

because I don't think
it's true.

And it's cruel.

Hideously cruel.

Is it not interesting to see

how the Christians continually

try to separate themselves
in vain

from the doctrine
of eternal pain.

They cannot do it.

They are committed to it.

Their Lord said it,

they must believe it.

And so the vulnerable body
is stretched without pity

on flames forever.
Is this not pretty?

The religion of Christianity
is mixed of sweetness
and cruelty.

Reject this sweetness,

for she wears a smoky dress
out of hell fires.

Who makes a God?
Who shows him thus?

It is
the Christian religion does.

Oh, oh. Have none of it.

Blow it away,
have done with it.

This God
the Christians show...

Out with him, out with him,

let him go.

[SIGHS] I suppose it's
because we are lonely,

because man is so lonely,
we invent God.

I think we should just
accept loneliness.

Not make a theology out of it.

If I had been the Virgin Mary,
I would have said, "No.

"No, I'll have no part of it.

"No savior, no world
to come, nothing."

Peggy.

Some water, Peggy.

Here we are.

Some more?

No, thank you.

People think
because I never married

I know nothing
about the emotions.

They are wrong.

I loved my aunt.

I first met Stevie
shortly after the war.

Well, it must have been
a little longer than that,

a little longer than shortly.

And it must have been
at one of those
quasi-bohemian gatherings

to celebrate somebody's book,
somebody's exhibition,

somebody's first night,
or somebody's something.

I was wondering how much
longer I could put up with
all that shrill chatter

and cigarette smoke
when I saw a strange
looking creature

hiding in a corner,

drinking gallons
of gin with verve.

I went across
and introduced myself

and she gave me
what can only be described
as a radiant smile

and told me her name
was Stevie Smith.

[SINGING INDISTINCTLY]

[LAUGHS]

I knew her work, of course,
and admired its
quirky individuality.

We had one of those brief

shouting cocktail
party conversations.

Mostly about George Orwell,
who used to be her
producer at the BBC.

"He keeps lying to me,"
she said. "I'm bored to
death with all the lies."

After a while she asked me
if I'd give her a lift
to Palmer's Green.

It seemed rather a long
way out of the way,

but I was grateful
for the chance to escape.

I soon learnt that she
expected all her
car-owning friends

to ferry her about,
no matter how inconvenient
it might be.

God knows how many trips
I've made on her behalf

through the beggarly purlieus
of north London.

[LAUGHING]

[SIGHS]

[HUMMING]

These tiresome duties
have now reached a peak

with Stevie becoming
something of a star turn

on the poetry reading circuit,

which means a lot of
traveling for Stevie,

and a certain amount of
nervous exhaustion for
her car-owning friends.

Even so,

my affection for her has
remained unimpaired...

Relatively.

[DOORBELL RINGING]

Why, in a crisis,
are ones coat sleeves
always inside out?

-Let me help.
-No. No. No. I can manage.

I think. There.

Well, how do I look?

Very nice.

That means you hate it.

-Not at all,
it's very striking.
-I dyed it myself.

So I see.

"Caribbean Blue"
it said on the packet.

It looks more greenish to me.
What do you think?

Well, it's a bit
patchy, Stevie.

Er, just a bit uneven.

Oh, that won't matter.
They'll think it's all
part of the pattern.

With my looks, I'm
bound to look simple or fast.

I would rather look simple.

-Mmm.
-Anyway it's warm,
that's the main thing.

These school halls are always
so drafty.

-You should have
worn trousers.
-[LAUGHS] Not me, darling.

Never trousers.
Never trousers on principle.
Did I tell you about that?

-Tell me about what?
-Well, this Colonel I met
at a hotel somewhere.

Colonel Peck, I think
he was called.
I could have hugged him.

There was this lady, you see.
This large English lady

who always wore trousers
on principle,

as she told us
one morning at breakfast.

"And a pretty fat principle
it is, too," said the Colonel.

I could have
hugged him. [LAUGHS]

There you are.
I knew you were
hiding somewhere.

Oh, dear, what a fright.

Ooh, I look
a bit below par, don't I?

Two gins below par
to be precise.

Just like that
ghastly photograph.

What ghastly photograph?

I showed it to you last week.

The one that makes
me look as though I've
been dead and buried.

I don't mind looking old.
I do have a thing about
looking dead and buried.

Brooch or necklace,
which do you prefer?

Either. You look
charming in either.

Don't be so boring.
Tell me what you think.

Well, I think we ought to go.
It's gone half past.

Oh, not yet, surely.
They said it would
only take two hours.

MAN: We should allow three.

Two hours maximum they said
on the telephone.

Well, if the traffic gets
bad at this time of day.

Oh.

Oh, well, we can't go yet.
I haven't packed a bag.

Bag? You don't need a bag.

Oh, I thought I would
take an overnight bag.

-What on earth for?
-STEVIE: Just in case.

Just to be on the safe side.

But we're driving
straight back.

That's why I'm here.
We're driving straight
back after the reading.

Yes, but you never know
darling, someone might
ask us to stay.

Who? Who?

Well, I don't know, but people
do sometimes. It is possible.

-I've got a meeting
in the morning.
-Oh.

Oh, well, then you
drive straight back.
I'm not stopping you.

Meaning you'll stay?

Well, of course, if I'm asked.

It would be fun to have
a party. London is so dull.

One never meets other writers.
Not like France.

Poets and writers
don't sit in pavement cafes,
not like Paris.

Well, of course the pavements
are so awfully cold,

and you can't just
go up to someone and say,

"I'm a poet and you're a poet,
so I'm coming to
dinner next Thursday."

-Stevie, this is ridiculous.
-What is?

If you're staying the night,
you could have
caught a train.

I didn't say I was staying.
I said I would like to.

-It's a bloody awful drive.
-You said it wasn't.

A hundred miles up
and a hundred miles back.

-Oh, well you offered.
-You asked.

You could have said no.

Look, I'm only driving up,
because there's no train
back tonight.

Yes and I'm very grateful.
I said I was very grateful.

I don't know what else
I can say.

Then why all this talk
about staying overnight?

I only mentioned it
as a possibility.

You should have
told me before.

I won't ask you again,
don't worry. Never again.

Never, never, never more.
Quoth the Raven.

-What are you doing now?
-Having a drink.
What does it look like?

I think it's very unkind of
you carrying on like this.

How was I to know
you had to be back
first thing in the morning?

I don't know you go to
meetings and things like that.

-It's most upsetting.
-All right, I'm sorry, Stevie.

-Let's stop this bickering,
shall we?
-I'm not bickering.

Well, let's get on then, or
we'll never get there at all.

Well, I'm ready.
I was ready ten minutes ago.

I thought you wanted
to pack a bag.

There's not much point,
is there, if we're driving
straight back?

-Oh, I must get the food.
-What food?

I bought some sausage rolls.
I thought we'd enjoy a snack.

Er, we could take the glasses.

Have a drop of gin.

Dear darling Stevie.

She needed to be cherished.

She needed to be
lapped in loving care.

In the midst of so much
love and such comfort,

still to feel unsafe
and be afraid.

How one's heart
goes out to you.

I remember once sitting
at the back of
a cheerless school hall

while Stevie
pranced around the stage,

chanting her poems like
an elderly Shirley Temple.

It should have been
embarrassing, but it wasn't.

It was touching.

Truthful

and haunting.

And the children
were enthralled.

She spoke to them
directly, you see.

From child to child.
From heart to heart.

Thought you were in a hurry.

[CHUCKLES] Coming, Stevie.

Don't forget the gin.

I've got a bad leg.

What a bore.

Oh, it was really awful.

I was supposed to do this
broadcast for the BBC

and I told them about the leg
quite casually, you know.

Well, they sent a car
for me and a rug.

All I needed was a shawl
and a hot water bottle to
complete the picture.

[SIGHS] Oh, hmm.

Everything has its
compensations, I suppose.

[SIGHS]

Even growing old.

Of course I miss
Aunt dreadfully.

When you've lived with an
old lady from an early age,

you never cease to be a child.

Now she's gone

and I find I'm old myself.

Some people thought
I should move.

"Why don't you get a flat
in London?" they said.
But I didn't want to.

I didn't want to
leave Avondale Road.

Everyone is so
kind to me here.

I'm better off
in Palmer's Green.

And I've got used
to living alone.

And there is something
wonderfully dreamy

about being in a house
all by yourself.

Ooh, you can wander about,

sleep in a different room
every night if you want to.

And then if I feel tired,
I just stay in bed.

I rather enjoy it.

I rather enjoy
feeling very tired.

Some days are long and thin
and there is nothing in them.

But they speed past
just the same.

And suddenly you realize

how short it all is.

Life...

And at the end there is death,

with the pleasure
of certainty.

I read a lot these days.
I read more than ever.

Gibbon especially.

Decline and Fallis my
favorite. I never tire of it.

I like Agatha Christie, too.

I love reading her in French.
She is so wonderfully funny.

[SPEAKING IN FRENCH]

I think she's a genius.

[SPEAKING IN FRENCH]

Her murders are so polite.

Oddly enough,
life has suddenly
become rather exciting.

Ooh, I'm quite
a celebrity these days.

I've been photographed
for the newspapers,

I've been interviewed
for the television,

I've made gramophone
records, I've lectured.

I've even had my
portrait painted.

Mind you, it didn't
look much like me.
Well, I didn't think so.

The coloring was lovely,
but the lower half of the face

seemed to belong
to someone else.
To Disraeli, I think.

Do take Muriel out.

She is looking so glum.

Do take Muriel out.

All her friends are gone.

[IN SING-SONG]
All her friends are gone.

And she's alone.

And she looks for them
where they have never been.

And her peace is flown.

Do take Muriel out.

Although your name is Death.

She will not complain.

When you dance her over

the blasted heath.

Hmm.

The most exciting thing of all

was getting the
Queen's Gold Medal for Poetry.

This was a tremendous honor

and I was tremendously
pleased about it
and very flattered, too.

It used to be sent by post,
I believe, but Cecil changed
all that when he became

Poet Laureate,
and quite right, too.

Just imagine getting
a Gold Medal from the Queen

among all those gas bills and
postcards from Felixstowe.

"Anything in the post today,
dear?" "Just a medal
from the Queen. " "Ugh."

Anyway, they told me to
get to Buckingham Palace

at such and such a time,
and of course I was
terrified of being late.

I'm always late
for everything.

I had a fortifying drink
at the Ritz

and then walked through
the rain to the Palace,

and got there
dreadfully early.

Well, they were still in the
middle of Changing the Guard.
So what to do?

The only thing I could
think of was to go next door
to the Queen's Gallery.

I bought a lot of postcards,
da Vinci drawings,

which I then had to cram
into my handbag,

which is not very big,
as you can see.

So there I was, with a handbag
crammed full of postcards,

standing in the rain outside
Buckingham Palace.

I went up to one of
the policemen and said,

"I am supposed to be
in there, you know.

"I have an appointment
with Her Majesty
to get this medal."

To my surprise
he knew all about it.

So in I went, into the Palace.

I was met by a rather
decorative young man

in naval uniform, and he took
me to this outer room.

Oh, what is it called?

Oh, anyway it's a huge room

and there was this
lady-in-waiting,
a most agreeable girl.

We had a very giggly time.

She asked me
to do one of my poems.

So l hissed a short one
under my breath.

Well, you know, the one
about the poor debutante
all alone at the grand ball.

Well, it seemed
appropriate, I thought.

I cannot imagine
anything nicer

than to be struck
by lightening

and killed suddenly
crossing a field.

As if somebody cared.

Nobody cares whether
I am alive or dead.

Oh, yes. We had
a very jolly time.
I loved that part of it.

And then, the one before me
came out.

A staggering looking woman.
And I thought,

"Oh, heavens, I'm not
properly dressed for this."

I bought this hat at
a jumble sale, you see.

Only five shillings.
A tremendous bargain, but,

perhaps a bit of a mistake.

Oh, anyway.

The young naval man
takes you to the door

and there far, far away,

the room's
as big as Trafalgar Square,

standing against
the mantel piece,

is this charming figure,
the Queen.

I'd never seen Royalty
close to before.

Well, only once before.
I saw the Queen Mother at
a Book Prints Exhibition.

I was standing
on the first floor landing
and she walked below me.

I could have poured sherry
onto her hat.

Well, there she was.

There was the Queen.

You curtsey at the door
and then make your way
across the room,

and then she comes forward
and smiles.

She's got
a very gracious smile.

And hands you the medal.

As she gave it to me,
she said,

"I don't know what
you'll do with it."

So I looked at it
and I said,

"Well, I could always
have a hook put on it and
wear it round my neck."

"I don't know whether
it's real," she said.

"Oh!" I said.

"Oh, I'm sure it is."

Then she motioned me.
I think that is
the correct expression.

She motioned me to sit down.

There was a table
between us.

And they told me outside
not to worry about
when to come out,

because she would ring a bell
under the table.

Well, the poor darling would
keep asking me
questions about poetry,

and I got the impression
it wasn't exactly
her favorite subject.

"How do you think
of a poem?" she said.

"Well," I said, "it just sort
of comes to you. Often
when you least expect it.

"Right in the middle of
hoovering, you know, you
suddenly think of a poem."

She made me feel very like
a schoolgirl again,

being interviewed by a rather
cordial headmistress.

After a bit I got nervous
and said,

"I don't know why
I seem to have written
a lot about murder lately."

Oh, this was obviously
the wrong thing to have said,

because the Royal smile
got rather fixed.

When it's all over,
you walk out backwards,

curtsey at the door and then
the young naval man
gets a taxi for you.

We went to the Epicure
afterwards for
a celebration lunch.

Cecil Day Lewis,
Eric Walter White
from the Arts Council,

and Norah Smallwood,
my fire watching chum
from Chatto's.

Dear Eric ordered oysters,
which was a great mistake.

They were ages in coming.

I had to ask the waiter
for some bread and jam
to stave off the pangs.

And then back home
to Avondale Road.

[SIGHS]

I did so wish
the Lion Aunt could have
been alive to see it.

Perhaps she would have
changed her mind
about my writing.

Perhaps not.

Stuff and nonsense.

Perhaps she was right.

Hey ho.

Ah.

[SOMBER MUSIC]

I have a friend

at the end of the world.

His name is a breath
of fresh air.

He is dressed in gray chiffon.
At least
I think it is chiffon.

It has a peculiar look,
like smoke.

It wraps him around,
it blows out of place.

It conceals him.

I have not seen his face,

but I have seen his eyes.

They are as pretty and bright

as raindrops on black twigs
in March.

And heard him say,

"I am a breath
of fresh air for you.

"A change, by and by."

"Black March" I call him,

because of his eyes
being like March raindrops
on black twigs.

But this new friend,

whatever new names I give him,

is still an old friend.
He says,

"Whatever new names
you give me,

"I am a breath of fresh air,

"a change for you."

[SIGHS]

Stevie's Sister Molly
suffered a severe stroke,

which left her
virtually helpless.

Anxious to do what she could,

Stevie packed her bags, said
goodbye to Avondale Road,

and went to Devon
where Molly lived.

It was there
that she fell ill.

From Torbay Hospital
she wrote to an old friend.

STEVIE: "Dear John,

"I am ill now,

"so must stay down here until
the doctors finish with me.

"I keep having sort of fits,

"mixed up with some
poisoning down below. Ha-ha.

"When the fits come
I am almost unconscience.

"With something
coming upon me.

"I cannot speak proper
words, nor read them.

"It is a frightful nightmare
of bells ringing

"and unknown crowds
crying out advice.

"Warnings etcetera,

"which I cannot understand.

"Or when sanity returns,

"remember.

"I am now with
two doctors and must go
at once to see a third,

"who is a specialist,
as soon as possible.

"When the doctors have spent
ages and ages,

"and mornings and mornings
and afternoons and afternoons,

"dear stick with sticks,
and glass tubes

"and being rather sharp
with steel rods,

"then they will know
what is the matter with me.

"I don't suppose I shall
be very bright, ha-ha,

"as I cannot speech properly,

"but I scramble
velly, velly well.

"Do...

"Do...

"Do forgive me, dear John,

"if I have been already
over and over this
again and again.

"I hope you are
beautifully happy.

"Love, Stevie."

The doctors diagnosed
a tumor on the brain.

She lost the power of speech.

Stevie was 69 when
she wrote her final poem.

Unable to speak,

she scrawled a circle
around one word.

Death.

I feel ill.
What can the matter be?

I'd ask God to pity me.
But I turn to the one
I know, and say,

"Come, Death,

"and carry me away.

"Ah me, sweet Death,

"you are the only God
who comes as a servant
when he is called, you know."

[CHUCKLES]

"Listen then,
to this sound I make.

"Come, Death.

"Do not be slow."

[MELANCHOLY MUSIC]