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PART ONE
Farm, Cornwall – 1889
The Singer Family Farm: a remote smallholding in the West Country countryside.
Late afternoon, winter; it is bitingly cold, the snow is thick – the air is purple-grey.
A white sun is low in the sky. JOSS, twenty-five – physical, bulky – is splitting logs with a long-axe. MAY, twenty – hardy, slim, muscular and three months pregnant. MAY is frozen, dirty and hungry. MAY watches JOSS. MAY waits for JOSS to take a break so she can speak. JOSS splits a log. JOSS splits a log. JOSS splits a log. JOSS doesn’t take a break.
MAY. Joss?
JOSS. Hm?
–
MAY. Joss?
JOSS keeps splitting logs.
–
Joss? Joss? Joss? Joss?
JOSS raises the axe to strike again, as he does so MAY steps in towards it; the axe comes down centimetres from her face and lodges in the block.
MAY doesn’t flinch.
Pause.
It’s not because I’m weak.
–
JOSS crumples.
JOSS. God’s sake.
–
MAY. Sun’s going down. (Beat.) Been up to my elbows in freeze since noon.
JOSS. Why?
MAY. Drinking trough’s frozen; inches thick – had to chip at it.
JOSS. You get ’em all done?
MAY. Baby’s making me tired; hungry as hell. Joss?
JOSS. You get ’em done?
MAY. All but two.
JOSS. They need doing or animals can’t drink.
MAY. Can’t feel my fingers.
JOSS. We can’t have you in bed, not yet.
MAY. I can’t feel my fingers.
JOSS. Rub ’em together.
–
MAY. Put your arms around me.
JOSS. If you get warm you’ll be colder than you started five minutes after.
MAY. Then keep your arms around me.
JOSS. If I stop it’ll be hell getting goin’ again.
MAY. Please.
JOSS. Don’t make it seem cruel, May – it’s work.
JOSS keeps splitting logs.
–
MAY. I’ll fetch some bread and cheese from the pantry, few logs and we can set up in here, I can sit with you whilst you work, I’ll bring the chicken in for plucking and we can sit warm together.
MA SINGER has entered unseen – tall, thin and beaky.
MA SINGER. Not enough for all five up there to be making picnics down here for two, Joss.
JOSS. Mother.
MA SINGER. Thought you were clearing the troughs, May – far as I could see two still frozen over.
MAY. Ice was too thick.
MA SINGER. Half a dozen sheep gaspin’.
Pause.
MAY. I was just coming by to see if… Joss had wood for me.
–
MA SINGER. Find you in these stables lot more than I find you working.
MAY. I like the stables.
MA SINGER. Must be a natural instinct of sorts.
MAY. Dare say.
–
JOSS. Well now. May, go get warm up in the house and I’ll do those troughs for you when I’m through here.
MAY. No, no – they’ll be done. Then we’ll have our picnic, Joss – just us.
MAY kisses JOSS’s cheek.
MAY turns to leave.
MA SINGER. May?
MAY stops and turns back.
Why is it that you think you should be warm when the sun ain’t shining?
–
MAY exits.
JOSS turns away and starts chopping logs again.
MAY sees him and turns to walk up to the house.
The kitchen. Early evening. Winter.
Candles. Black walls.
FANNY uses washing board and tub and scrubs vigorously at underclothes.
MAY tugs and plucks at a slightly rotten chicken.
MA SINGER is loading the range with more coal.
ANNE is hefting all the weight she has into kneading dough.
MAY. Feathers ripping out more flesh than they should.
MA SINGER. It’s fine.
MAY. Doesn’t smell right.
MA SINGER. Smells fine.
MAY. It’s.
FANNY. Not going to rot in this freeze, is it?
MA SINGER. Exactly.
ANNE holds up the dough.
MA SINGER comes round – takes a piece of the dough – smooths it out in front of the candle – the light shines through it and shows that there are still lumps.
Needs to look like parchment – not porridge. You see?
ANNE. Quicker to make parchment, I reckon. Hardly feel my arms.
MA SINGER. You’re doing a good job.
FANNY. Range is smeeching; smoke’s getting to these shirts.
MA SINGER. Do ’em outside.
MAY. It’s pitch black.
MA SINGER. Need to get them done, don’t we? Can’t send those boys out in this weather with damp shirts.
MAY. It’s not right, this chicken.
MA SINGER. Will you stop whining? Do these potatoes; I can’t get my hands round them.
MAY picks up the potatoes and reaches for a knife. MA SINGER starts in with the washing.
Brush ’em don’t cut ’em not enough as there is – we’ll lose half to the pigs you go cutting them and clean all that up first – you never do a job properly you, do you?
ANNE squeals.
What you done, love?
ANNE. Piece a glass, I think. Pass that candle.
MAY reaches for the candle to come and look.
MA SINGER. You got work to do.
MA SINGER takes the candle off MAY.
MAY. Bind it or you’ll bleed into the bread.
ANNE. It hurts.
MAY. Find the glass ’n’ all.
MA SINGER....
