Coram Boy (NHB Modern Plays)

Jamila Gavin

• Éditeur: Nick Hern Books
• Année: 2014
• ISBN:
  9781780011660
• Sujet: Literature
• Sous-sujet: Drama

A heartbreaking tale of orphans, angels, murder and music - dramatised from the Whitbread Award-winning novel set in 18th-century England.

Winner of the Time Out Live Award for Best Play

In 18th-century Gloucestershire, the evil Otis Gardner preys on unmarried mothers, promising to take their babies (and their money) to Thomas Coram's hospital for foundling children. Instead, he buries the babies and pockets the loot.

But Otis's downfall is set in train when his half-witted son Meshak falls in love with a young girl, Melissa, and rescues the unwanted son she has had with a disgraced aristocrat. The child is brought up in Coram's hospital, and proves to have inherited the startling musical gifts of his father - gifts that ultimately bring about his father's redemption and a heartbreaking family reunion.

'a rich and almost Gothic drama' - Philip Pullman

'a triumph... can still make your heart soar' - The Times

'the story has a gripping intensity... there is a tremendous sense of momentum' - Independent

'Family shows don't come much more harrowing than this - but nor do they come any finer... as gripping, terrifying, beautiful and moving as anything you will see in the theatre this year... Helen Edmundson's adaptation does full justice to the dark power of the original, while also transforming it into a thrilling piece of theatre' - Daily Telegraph

'a highly superior show that should appeal to adults and children alike' - Guardian

ACT ONE

Scene One

1742. Gloucester Cathedral. Early evening. Candles flicker in the echoing darkness.

The door creaks open. MESHAK GARDINER, fourteen, strange-faced, large-limbed, tattered and hungry, enters. He looks about anxiously and listens. At the other end of the nave, the cathedral CHOIRBOYS are practising. They are singing an early incarnation of Handel’s ‘Oh Death, Where Is Thy Sting’, which he will eventually rework and use in Messiah. The BOYS are repeating the same short phrase over and over in response to the CHOIRMASTER’s succinct orders. There is no one else about.

MESHAK (whispering). I’m coming, Angel.

MESHAK begins his journey down the south aisle. He feels that he shouldn’t be in the cathedral, and it takes him all his courage to dare to move forward – past the gargoyles and the bloody crucifixion scenes.

A sudden loud burst of playing on the organ sends him scuttling for cover behind a stone pillar, but as soon as it stops he emerges again and continues. He is almost there now. He can see her – his angel. He feels she is calling to him, whispering his name –‘MESHAK’. She is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen or could possibly imagine. He reaches her and stares up at her – this plaster sculpture with long, glowing auburn hair, the bluest eyes and the kindest expression.

Angel.

As he stares, one of the CHOIRBOYS begins a solo. The voice is so beautiful, so uplifting. It fills MESHAK’s head and heart. Tears start to his eyes. It seems to him like the angel’s voice.

My angel.

He reaches his hand up towards her. Then, for one sublime moment, he feels that she is moving, that she has lowered her eyes to meet his and that she is smiling upon him. His breath comes more quickly. But the BOY’s singing stops and the moment passes.

The organ starts up again. MESHAK sinks to his knees in front of his angel, and gazes up at her as the music washes over him.

The CHOIR is clearly visible to us now. The SOLOIST, who is standing a little separate from the other BOYS, sings the last part of his solo again. This is ALEXANDER ASHBROOK, fourteen, intelligent, self-contained, intense. His voice soars up to the rafters.

Then the other BOYS join in. But almost immediately, mistakes are made and confusion breaks out. The choirmaster, DR SMITH, intervenes.

DR SMITH. Stop! Stop! Stop!

Gradually the BOYS stop singing and the organ ceases.

Lamentable. Is this not the very section we spent half an hour perfecting yesterday?

BOY. It was the new boy, Sir. He threw us out.

There are mutters of agreement from other BOYS.

ALEXANDER. It’s the rest in the middle of bar sixteen, Sir. I think some of them . . .

DR SMITH. One moment, Mr Ashbrook. Where is our newcomer?

He scans the CHOIR, with a stern expression.

BOYS. Here, Sir. He’s here, Sir.

A young open-faced boy, THOMAS LEDBURY, is nudged and hassled. He puts his hand up.

THOMAS. Here, Sir.

DR SMITH. Thomas, isn’t it?

THOMAS. Yes, Sir. Thomas Ledbury, Sir.

DR SMITH. You can read music, Thomas Ledbury?

THOMAS. I’m trying to read the music, Sir. I’ll be fine once I’ve heard the whole tune. Only it’s so split up. And it’s not very catchy.

The BOYS snigger.

DR SMITH. Do you know who wrote this rather sublime anthem?

THOMAS. Mr Handel, I think, Sir.

DR SMITH. George Frideric Handel, the most gifted composer alive today. Would you like me to write to Mr Handel and ask him to send us something more ‘catchy’?

Pause. Everyone is looking at THOMAS.

THOMAS. More catchy?

Pause.

Well, yes please, Sir. That would certainly help.

The BOYS burst out laughing.

DR SMITH. Enough! Enough! We will finish there for today. Work at it. Learn it.

Evening chores, boys!

The BOYS let out a groan as they begin to move off, but there is a lot of chattering and laughing too. THOMAS is pushed out with them. ALEXANDER approaches DR SMITH, who is hurriedly sorting out his music and about to leave.

ALEXANDER. Dr Smith?

DR SMITH. Mr Ashbrook. Nil desperandum. We shall make silk purses of them yet.

ALEXANDER. Can I talk to you in confidence, Sir?

DR SMITH. Of course, of course. Come to my study in half an hour.

ALEXANDER. I want to stay on. At the cathedral.

DR SMITH stops and gives him his full attention.

I want to stay on, after my voice . . . after it . . .

DR SMITH. Breaks?

ALEXANDER. Yes, Sir.

DR SMITH. Hum. I suppose it can’t be long now. You have turned fourteen, have you not?

ALEXANDER. I’m almost fifteen. I have to carry on with my music, Sir. Even if my voice . . . even if I can’t sing in the choir, I have to go on with my playing and I have to go on studying Handel with you. Please, Sir, would you write to my father and ask him if I can stay?

DR SMITH. This is very difficult.

ALEXANDER. I think he would take notice if you wrote to him.

DR SMITH. You are undoubtedly extremely gifted, Alexander. Your voice is the best treble Gloucester has heard in many a long year, and your understanding of music is exceptional . . .

ALEXANDER. Music is my life.

DR SMITH. But you are heir to the largest estate in Gloucester shire. I’m sure your father plans higher things for you.

ALEXANDER. There is nothing higher than music.

DR SMITH. Indeed. You and I know that, but does he? As for him taking notice of me, I very much doubt that he would. It’s not my place to interfere in these matters.

ALEXANDER. Please, Sir. You’re my only hope.

DR SMITH considers the situation.

DR SMITH. Very well. I can see no harm in writing to...