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The Torrents
Oriel Gray
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The Torrents
Oriel Gray
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The gold rush is beginning to wane in Koolgalla and the editors of the Koolgalla Argus must decide between protecting old interests and investing in the future. But when the new editorial assistant, JG Milford, arrives and it turns out the 'J' stands for Jenny, she creates havoc.%##CHAR13##%%##CHAR13##%A forgotten classic, The Torrents won the 1955 Best Play award alongside Summer of the Seventeenth Doll but the play never had the same impact. Perhaps it was ahead of its time. Currency is proud to republish a work whose themes of media chauvinism, environmental destruction and corruption are chillingly relevant today.
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ACT ONE
SCENE ONE
The office of the Koolgalla Argus. The larger part of the set is occupied by an all-purpose room. It is in a dreadful muddleâon the small table downstage right, there are several green baize boxes, bursting at their sides, spilling blocks on to the floor. There is a scratched and bow-legged desk with a typewriter of the period, and a collection of newspaper files. There is also a filing cabinet, and a branching Victorian-type hat-rack... empty at the moment. A door marked âPRIVATEâ leads into Rufus Torrentâs office⊠a small area (preferably on a slightly higher level), furnished with an imposing desk and swivel chair... (all we can see of it).
Except for the dust and the untidiness, the impression of the set is warm and lightâwindows look down on the main street of Koolgalla.
On one wall is a dusty glass case carrying a plaster cast of a nuggetâthe first great find in the district. There is also a calendar, which displaysâamid a quantity of scrollworkâa picture resembling the âStag at Bayâ, and the beginning of the year â189-â (the last digit torn off). There is also a picture of Queen Victoriaâto which has been added a long, curly moustache.
As the curtain rises, CHRISTYâold, gnomish, fantasticâis perched on the desk upstage, spinning a yarn to BERNIE, who is sixteen, gauche, with a puppy charm. The feeling of the scene is that of the schoolroom picture of the old sailor telling stories to young Raleigh and Frobisher...
CHRISTY: [this is pure showmanship] Oâ course, we all knew there was goinâ to be troubleâthere had to be. âBy Grundyâ, says Jim Stephens to me⊠he was a mate of mine, little feller with a wall eye⊠ânuther feller I knew had a piebald gelding with an eye the very spit of Jimâs.
BERNIE: [anxious to get on with the story] And then Jim Stephens said to youâ
CHRISTY: Eh? Oh yesââBy Grundyâ, he says, âif the red coats take the Reform League lying down, weâll be able to use âem for doormats!â Oâ course, we knew they wouldnât, butââLet âem comeâ, we said!
BERNIE: [awed and believing] And you really knew Peter Lalor, Christy?
CHRISTY: [with a light laugh] Knew âim? Well as I know you, young Bernie! âChristyâ, he used to say, âChristy, youâre only the size of half a man, but by Grundy, youâre worth ten!â He had a quaint way of expressing himselfâIrish he was, yâknow like his NibsâŠ
Thumbing a gesture towards the door marked âPRIVATEâ.
BERNIE: And were you there when they tookâthe Oath?
CHRISTY: Was I there? By Grundy, I⊠well, I wasnât exactly there, because I was called away on business that day, but there wasâoh, now, how many would it be⊠a thousand sayâor maybe eight hundredâŠ
BERNIE: Five hundred, ChristyâŠ
CHRISTY: As I was sayingâfive hundredâŠ
BERNIE: [softly: he knows it by heart and he lives it as he speaks] Five hundred armed diggers then assembled, and Peter Lalor was on the stump, holding with his left hand the muzzle of his rifle. A gesture of his right hand signified what he meant when he said, âIt is my duty now to swear you inâ.
JOCK MACDONALD appears in the doorwayâa man of fifty, very hard and stringy, a sharp voice, a Scots accent, a shrewd, competent fair-minded man. He watches and listens, half annoyed, half amused. CHRISTY and BERNIE are quite unaware of him.
Lalor now knelt, with head uncovered, and with the right hand pointing to the standard, exclaimed in a firm measured tone.
JOCK: Get those proofs pulled up!
CHRISTY and BERNIE both jump. CHRISTY gets down from the desk. BERNIE looks shamefaced.
When I tell you to do a job, Bernie, I trust youâI donât expect to have to be calling you every ten minutes, like a mother with a bairn in leading-strings. Now weâre waiting for those proofs, and theyâre noâ pulled yet, and the third page canât be locked up until they are.
BERNIE: Iâm sorry, Mr MacDonald, but Christy began to tell meâŠ
JOCK: [sternly] How old are you, Bernie?
BERNIE: Nearly sixteen.
JOCK: Old enough to be workingâold enough to take responsibility.
BERNIE: Iâve been hard at it since early this morning, Mr MacDonald.
JOCK: If you donât like it, my lad, get your motherâs washing up dish and star...