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Small Island (NHB Modern Plays)
(stage version)
Andrea Levy, Helen Edmundson
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eBook - ePub
Small Island (NHB Modern Plays)
(stage version)
Andrea Levy, Helen Edmundson
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About This Book
Hortense yearns for a new life away from rural Jamaica. Gilbert dreams of becoming a lawyer. Queenie longs to escape her Lincolnshire roots. Three intimately connected stories, tracing the tangled history of Jamaica and Britain.
Andrea Levy's epic novel, adapted for the stage by Helen Edmundson, journeys from Jamaica to Britain in 1948 ā the year that HMT Empire Windrush docked at Tilbury.
Small Island was first performed at the National Theatre, London, in 2019, in an acclaimed production directed by Rufus Norris. This revised edition of the play was published alongside the revival of the production in 2022.
'Extraordinary. A spectacular adaptation of Andrea Levy's Windrush novel' - Observer
'Edmundson has a knack for skilfully distilling story... ferociously entertaining' - Time Out
'A landmark in the National Theatre's history: a tumultuous epic about first-generation Jamaican immigrants... skilfully adapted... one of the most important plays of the year' - Guardian
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ACT ONE
Scene One
Summer. 1939.
PathƩ-style news footage of Jamaica bracing itself for a strong hurricane.
On the stage, in a wooden schoolhouse, HORTENSE is hurrying to prepare the classroom for the hurricaneās arrival. The schoolteacher, MRS RYDER, is standing in the open doorway. Strong gusts of wind are heard.
MRS RYDER. Why, listen to that wind, Hortense! I do believe itās on its way.
HORTENSE. Yes, Mrs Ryder. It is certainly drawing closer now.
MRS RYDER. Oh, look how the trees are starting to sway! Why, itās as if theyāre dancing!
HORTENSE. Yes, Mrs Ryder.
MRS RYDER. My very first hurricane, how thrilling! (Blown by the wind.) Oh!
HORTENSE pauses in what sheās doing and looks at the audience. She addresses them, conspiratorially, with barely controlled excitement.
HORTENSE (to audience). I think, perchance, that you are wondering how I come to find myself in this schoolhouse with this fool-fool American woman who believe a hurricane on the island of Jamaica is something to look forward to.
MRS RYDER. Oh, my, I do believe itās almost here!
HORTENSE (to audience). I must confess that I feel just a little bit sorry for this lady ā Mrs Ryder, evangelist, schoolteacher. She clearly believe that she is the heroine of this situation, but I can assure you, she is most certainly not.
MRS RYDER. Letās leave the door unlocked, shall we, in case someone wants to join us?
HORTENSE. Like Mr Ryder.
MRS RYDER. Yes, Hortense. Exactly. Like Mr Ryder. Now, whereās my purse, I think this calls for lipstick!
MRS RYDER locates her handbag, takes out her lipstick and puts some on.
HORTENSE (to audience). The reason I am in this schoolhouse is that I choose to be. I am only a classroom assistant after all and, like the pupils, I could have left at lunchtime when word of the approaching storm was verified. But to do such a sensible thing would be to deny the man I love the opportunity to come and rescue me. For him to say, āHortense! But where is Hortense?! Perhaps sheās in the schoolhouse, perhaps she is alone, afraid! I must risk my life and run to her at once!ā
MRS RYDER. I swear the Lord is present in that wind. Oh, come, wind, for I am ready!
HORTENSE (to audience). I will tell you the story of my love. It is a love with deep-down roots.
Enter HORTENSE as a little child, skipping and playing on a wooded path. Enter MISS JEWEL, walking with intent. HORTENSE remains onstage, emotionally and physically involved with her younger self. She speaks some of her lines.
MISS JEWEL. Hortense! Hortense! Come-come, me sprigadee.
LITTLE HORTENSE. How much further to the big house with the chickens?
MISS JEWEL. Not much further nah.
LITTLE HORTENSE. Miss Jewel, if I nuh like the big house with the chickens, can we go back to Mama?
MISS JEWEL. Nuh, I tell yah ā your mama gone work in another country nah. She far, far away. In Cuba.
LITTLE HORTENSE. But what if she come back to look for us?
MISS JEWEL. She know we gone to your papa folk.
LITTLE HORTENSE. Who is my papa? (Receiving no reply.) Miss Jewel? Grandmama?
MISS JEWEL. Your papa him big-big man, government man. Him far, far away. In Kingston.
LITTLE HORTENSE suddenly stops.
LITTLE HORTENSE. I nuh want to go to the big house with the chickens.
MISS JEWEL stops and looks at her. She crouches down and beckons to LITTLE HORTENSE ā
MISS JEWEL. Come.
LITTLE HORTENSE goes to her. MISS JEWEL takes hold of one of LITTLE HORTENSEās arms.
This your papaās skin. Colour of warm honey. You a lucky, lucky chile. This skin is a golden life. You wa golden life, me sprigadee?
LITTLE HORTENSE/HORTENSE (enchanted). Oh, yes. I wa golden life.
MISS JEWEL. So shift yuh battam nah.
They walk on. Then MISS JEWEL stops.
This the place.
HORTENSE (to audience). A long track. A white house nestled amongst palm trees. The biggest house Iāve ever seen. Made of stone, with tiles upon the roof.
Enter MR PHILIP, MISS MA and LITTLE MICHAEL. LITTLE MICHAEL hangs back, watching.
MR PHILIP. So this is Lovellās child.
MISS JEWEL. Yessir. This Hortense, sir.
MR PHILIP. Hum. (To LITTLE HORTENSE.) I am your fatherās cousin, Mr Philip Roberts. This is my wife, Mrs Martha Roberts. You are a fortunate child. Your father wishes you to be raised in a decent home and to have some teaching. So from now on you will live with us. This is a God-fearing house. I hope you are acquainted with the Lord?
LITTLE HORTENSE looks at MISS JEWEL doubtfully.
MISS JEWEL. Oh, yessir. The Lord him very good man, sir.
MR PHILIP. Hum.
MR PHILIP walks away into the house.
MISS MA. Michael, donāt be shy now. Come and meet your cousin.
LITTLE MICHAEL approaches, grinning. His hands are clasped behind his back.
MISS MA. Hortense, this is our son, Michael.
LITTLE HORTENSE (quietly). Hello.
LITTLE MICHAEL (thrusting out his hand which holds a baby snake). Snake!
MISS MA and MISS JEWEL scream. LITTLE HORTENSE just looks at it.
(To LITTLE HORTENSE.) Snake! You have to scream!
LITTLE HORTENSE. But I like snakes.
MISS MA. Put it away, Michael! You are a mischievous boy. Take Hortense to her bedroom now. Miss Jewel, I will show you where you sleep.
LITTLE HORTENSE. But I sleep with my grandmama.
MISS MA. Certainly not. Miss Jewel will sleep in the wash house.
MISS JEWEL. Nuh fret nah, me sprigadeeā¦
MISS MA. And there will be no more of that talk. This is Miss Hortense. And this is Master Michael.
MISS MA leads MISS JEWEL away towards the wash house. LITTLE MICHAEL runs towards the gardens at the back of the house.
LITTLE MICHAEL (to LITTLE HORTENSE). Come now! Come now!
LITTLE HORTENSE runs after him, uncertainly.
LITTLE HORTENSE. Where we going?
LITTLE MICHAEL runs to high ground and points ā
LITTLE MICHAEL. All this is my fatherās land. Those are my fatherās goats, those are my fatherās chickens, that is my fatherās orchard!
He runs on, LITTLE HORTENSE following. They arrive at a large tree. Thereās a rickety table in front of it.
This is my fatherās tamarind tree. (Pointing to a hollow in the tree.) Thereās a woodpeckerās nest in that hole, ...