The Unreturning (NHB Modern Plays)

Anna Jordan

• Publisher: Nick Hern Books
• Year: 2018
• ISBN:
  9781788500951
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: British Drama
• Index: Literature

A Northern British coastal town. Three young men are coming home from war.

Their stories, set at different times over a hundred years, are beautifully interwoven in Anna Jordan's The Unreturning, a play that explores the profound effect that war has on young people's lives, and asks – what does coming home really mean? What is home? And when experience has shattered you into a million pieces, will home help to put you together again, or treat you as an ugly truth it does not want to confront?

The Unreturning was premiered at Theatre Royal Plymouth in September 2018, in a co-production between Frantic Assembly and Theatre Royal Plymouth, before touring the UK.

ACT ONE

Leaving

Focus: FRANKIE.

CHORUS should be more than one voice.

CHORUS. Frankie sits on the bed.

Sheets stripped, kit neatly folded by his side.

Sarge in the doorway

Can’t look him in the eye.

Frankie stands on unsteady legs.

Grabs his bag

Focus switches to NAT.

Nat’s bag:

Tablet (wrapped in plastic)

Charger (wrapped in plastic)

Glucose tablets

Ibuprofen

Spare pants

Spare socks

Spare plastic!

An OFFICER at a desk with a checklist. GEORGE in front of him clutching a bunch of papers. He gives them to him as he asks for them.

OFFICER. Papers?

CHORUS (still in NAT’s world). What?

OFFICER. Got your papers, man?

GEORGE. Yes, sir.

He gives him the forms.

OFFICER. Hollins, George. 12th Battalion Green Howards. Says here: ‘A cheery and sober chap.’

GEORGE. Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.

OFFICER. Conditions, injuries, diseases?

GEORGE. Puncture wound. Right foot.

OFFICER. All healed, now?

GEORGE. Yes, sir.

OFFICER. Good man. Now, are we giving you civvies or do you want to buy your own?

GEORGE (confused). Umm…

OFFICER. Chop chop, Private, you’re one of millions!

GEORGE. My own. Sir.

OFFICER. Got your fifty-three shillings?

GEORGE pats his pocket.

GEORGE. Sir.

OFFICER. Dispersal certificate?

GEORGE. Sir.

OFFICER. Unfathomable feeling of dread?

Beat.

GEORGE (taken aback). Sir?

Pause. The OFFICER and GEORGE lock eyes. The OFFICER has a small piece of paper.

OFFICER. One train ticket to – (Studies the ticket.)

Scarborough. Home, Hollins.

GEORGE takes it. Looks at it.

GEORGE (to himself). Home. I’m going home. I’m going home I’m going

Switch to FRANKIE and three of his army section.

ARMY BUDDY ONE. Home, you fucking prick!

ARMY BUDDY THREE. Nice bit of R and R! /

ARMY BUDDY TWO. Soft duvets, real pillows –

ARMY BUDDY THREE. Proper fucking milk from a cow’s tit!

FRANKIE. Yeah, I just wish it wasn’t / like –

ARMY BUDDY TWO. Oh kebabs! Nando’s, Frank!

ARMY BUDDY THREE. You’ll bring us back some Peri Peri, yeah?

FRANKIE. Lads, I don’t think I’m gonna / be coming back

ARMY BUDDY TWO. And what the fuck do you know? Prick.

ARMY BUDDY ONE. WOMEN Frankie! Fucking women! /

FRANKIE. Yeah…

ARMY BUDDY ONE. And your mam.

ARMY BUDDY THREE. She’s a woman.

ARMY BUDDY ONE. Look at him! Getting all hard thinking about your mam!

ARMY BUDDY THREE. Shut up!

ARMY BUDDY TWO. You’re a lucky fucking duck at the end of the day, kid, / really.

FRANKIE (snaps). You’d trade with me then, would ya? Any of ya?

Beat. Slightly awkward.

ARMY BUDDY ONE. It’ll blow over, Frank. You’ll see.

FRANKIE. And there’s punches in the arm and kisses on the head

And knees in the knackers

Then me and Sarge speed away

till their faces are tiny

then pinpricks

then nothing.

I look out the window

count the

rocks

CHORUS. And

FRANKIE. Mountains

CHORUS. And

FRANKIE. Compounds

CHORUS. And

Switch to GEORGE.

GEORGE. Blackened trees

CHORUS. And

GEORGE. Scorched earth

CHORUS. And

GEORGE. Shell holes

Of Passchendaele

The hellhole

The mudhole

Where we lost them…

Whoosh past the window

And it’s gone.

Switch to NAT, who is swiping through his tablet. ELIAS sleeps heavily next to him. NAT speaks in a whisper.

CHORUS. And

NAT. ID card

CHORUS. And

NAT. Travel doc

CHORUS. And

NAT. Contact address. YES!

NAT kisses the tablet, puts it in his bag.

CHORUS. Checked. Packed. Zipped.

It’s dawn.

The worn canvas of the tarpaulin glistens with dew

Early summer sun creeps through cracks in the chipboard walls.

ELIAS stirs. NAT quickly sits on his bag. ELIAS has hair in his face, yawns.

ELIAS. What time is it?

NAT. Just after six.

ELIAS. Did you have the dream again?

NAT. No.

ELIAS. Then you’ve been up all night on that thing? (Points to tablet.) I’ve told you, there’s nothing you / can do for –

NAT. You said you’d go to the kitchens for scraps.

ELIAS groans.

Elias! All the good shit will be gone by seven.

ELIAS rolls out of bed, shakes his head. Stretches. Grabs his shoes – starts to head out, ruffling NAT’s hair roughly as he does.

ELIAS. Okay. See you at the generator.

NAT. Cool.

ELIAS laughs and shakes his head.

ELIAS. ‘Cool’.

ELIAS slopes off. NAT pauses. He goes to where ELIAS was lying. Feels under the makeshift bed, finds a few screwed-up notes, a lighter and a large pouch of tobacco. He looks to the door, looks at his finds, thinks, then shoves them back under. He puts on his bag.

CHORUS. Nat has one last look around

His makeshift shack

And out on to this tented town

NAT....