Mr Thomas

Kathy Burke

• Publisher: Nick Hern Books
• Year: 2017
• eBook ISBN: 9781780018249
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: British Drama
• Index: Literature

'You see, Brenda, I'm not like other men...'

In a dingy London bedsit in the late 1950s, George is planning a night on the town with his friend Gordon. Weaver wants to come too, and soon Mrs Tebbit, the landlady, has been invited. But when Mr Thomas shows up, the night takes a strange and sinister turn...

Kathy Burke's first play is a gritty, darkly funny look at attitudes to homosexuality in the 1950s, a portrait of repressed sexuality and alcoholism – and an homage to the great masters of British theatre, Wilde, Coward, Pinter and Orton.

Mr Thomas premiered at the Old Red Lion Theatre, London, in January 1990, directed by the playwright, and starring Ray Winstone as Weaver. Re-issued in this new edition, the play provides rich opportunities for theatre companies, and is a fascinating insight into the work of one of our best-loved actresses.

ACT ONE

Scene One

Setting: the attic room of a house. A bed in one corner, a battered armchair in another. A sink with a mishmash of pots, plates and cups. A portable record player and discs scattered around it. Damp-ridden walls, old lino covers the floor. The curtains are always closed and the room is lit by a large floor lamp. The door to the room is upstage next to an old wardrobe. The whole room should give off a feeling of despair.

Morning. GEORGE is asleep on the bed on top of the covers. He has slept in his clothes and they are a crumpled mess. There is a knock on the door. GEORGE doesn’t move. After a pause another knock, this time louder.

WEAVER (off). George?… George? Are you awake?

GEORGE (stirs slightly and looks up. Mumbles). What?

WEAVER (off). George? Wake up. Come on, I know you’re in.

GEORGE (sits up). Who is it?

WEAVER (off). ME.

GEORGE. Who?

WEAVER (off). Stop fucking about, George. It’s me, Weaver, come on, let me in.

GEORGE. What do you want?

WEAVER. Just let us in, will you. Stop playing silly buggers.

GEORGE. Hold on a minute. (Gets up, staggers to the door and opens it.)

WEAVER (entering). Fuck me, it’s freezing out there. I’ve just been up the dole, thought I’d pop in and see you as I was in the area. Hope you don’t mind.

GEORGE (goes to the sink and splashes his face with water). Do you want a cup of tea?

WEAVER. Wouldn’t mind.

GEORGE. I ain’t got no milk though.

WEAVER. Oh. You got any coffee?

GEORGE. No.

WEAVER. I don’t think I’ll bother then. I’m not being rude or anything, it’s just that I can’t stand tea without milk. I can do without it in coffee but I have to have milk in tea even if it’s just a splash.

GEORGE. Well I ain’t got none, I’m afraid.

WEAVER. No worries. I didn’t really fancy one anyway.

GEORGE. I’ve got a drop of whisky if you’d care for it.

WEAVER. Oh I dunno. Bit early ain’t it?

GEORGE. It’s twenty-to.

WEAVER. Is it?

GEORGE. I might be a bit slow.

WEAVER. Fuck it. The pubs are open in half an hour so it wouldn’t be too out of order would it?

GEORGE (gets the whisky from the wardrobe and pours out two generous amounts). Do you want water in it?

WEAVER. Just a splash, don’t go mad.

GEORGE. There you go.

WEAVER. Smashing. Just what the doctor ordered.

Pause.

GEORGE. What a night.

WEAVER. Rough was it?

GEORGE (sits on the bed). Murder. God knows how I got home.

WEAVER. That bad? I should’ve been there.

GEORGE. You would’ve loved it.

WEAVER. I had a gyppy tummy. Don’t know what was the matter with me. I couldn’t walk.

GEORGE. You alright now?

WEAVER. Kosher. I must’ve had a bug or something.

GEORGE. Well, you missed a good night.

WEAVER. It’s always the way, ain’t it. Life can be a bit of a bollock like that.

GEORGE. Not to worry. He’s bound to have another one soon.

WEAVER. Who was there then?

GEORGE. Just the usual mob, plus a few I’d never met before. Nice people though, friendly.

WEAVER. Any women there?

GEORGE. Quite a few, as it goes.

WEAVER. Any salty ones?

GEORGE. One or two. That bird was there.

WEAVER. What bird?

GEORGE. That bird, you know.

WEAVER. What one?

GEORGE. The one with the teeth.

WEAVER. They’ve all got teeth, well, most of them have.

GEORGE. Yeah but she’s got big ones, you know, sort of goofy but not goofy, goofy, if you know what I mean.

WEAVER. What colour hair?

GEORGE. Sort of blonde-ish, oh you know her but I can’t remember her name.

WEAVER. Not Gloria?

GEORGE. No, I know Gloria, don’t I. She’s a bit plump, not fat, just a bit plump, fat arse.

WEAVER. Oh I know who you mean, that’s what’s-her-name, Janet!

GEORGE. Janet, that’s it. She asked me where you were.

WEAVER. Yeah? What did you say?

GEORGE. I said you were at home with a bad tummy; she looked a bit put out.

WEAVER. Did she? Oh that’s good. I quite like her.

GEORGE. She left with some bloke, though.

WEAVER. Did she? Who...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Original Production
• Introduction
• Dedication
• Characters
• Act One
• Act Two
• About the Author
• Copyright and Performing Rights Information