The Turn of the Road / A Play in Two Scenes and an Epilogue

The two ould men are out in the haggard, but

Ellen's in the crame-house.

You can no' hoodwink me, Robbie. You're no' happy.

I'm happy enough.

Don't be tormentin' me.

Faith you look happy.

I seen you last night at it.

I couldn't keep from it. There's a spell or somethin' on it.

Na. Na. But every fiddle has its spell for you. You broke your promise.

You followed me then?

Yes. Ye crept on your stocking soles to the back o' the forth ditch, and played there for two mortal hours, till I was heart feared they'd miss us out o' bed, and raise a cry.

And you stood two hours in the night listenin' to me.

I 'clare to God, there's somethin' out o' common wi' you or that fiddle, for I had to stop and listen, and me teeth chatterin' wi' could.

I did wrong I know, but look here Samuel James, as long as I see that thing hangin' there, my hands are itchin' to hold it, and the tunes I could play—they keep runnin' in my head.

I'll destroy it.

Na. Na. Its a vallible fiddle.

It is. Ach man but it does temp' me sorely.

Aye. You might make a fortune, the dear knows. Man I know what I would do if I could play like you do.

That was if ye had the heart.

Ach quit! Quit talkin' to me that way. I'm going out.

He'll take to it yet.

I can see it workin' in him. Sure his hands are tremblin' and his fingers twitchin' all the times he's lookin' at it.

Maybe its no' right of me to let it hang there. Ach. He maybe could make money plenty. I want till have a fine place and a lock o' money. And I'll build a bigger house.

Aye. Aye. Ye could do a heap wi' money, Samuel James.

Money's the thing, Grand-da.

Its a tarr'ble fine thing, there's no doubt. Food and drink and fine clothes and fine houses ye can get.

And tobaccy and seegars and the front seat at a consart.

Here. Don't be temptin' Robbie John about playin' on that fiddle. You've upset the boy.

I don't temp' him.

You're always remindin' him of it. I can see what you're workin' for Samuel James. Ye want all the money for yourself.

Ha' sense, Grand-da. Sure they're settlin' the matter to-day and he's to be married at Christmas. He wouldn't do anythin' rash now.

The clock has no' struck the hour yet Samuel James. Ye could no' tell what's workin' in his mind.

Well, he'd be a fool, and what's more, he knows himself to be one if he goes. He'll lose all the money from Da if he goes, and I'm sure Jennie Graeme's father wouldn't turn his head to look at a fiddler.

Aye. He's tarr'ble proud o' his family.

Here. I seen Mr. Graeme and your Da comin' up the loney from the windy in the low room.

Well, they'll be for comin' in here and we're only in the road. Come and twist a wheen o' ropes for me.

Aye. Here he bes now and that good man o' mine talkin' till him a dozen till one. And ten till one, he'll have John Graeme that angered wi' his arguin', that there'll be nothin' settled the day.

Aye, to be sure. He'd rather get the better o' Graeme in an argyment as settle wi' him over twenty sons, the ould gomeril.

How dy'e do, Mr. Graeme?

It's the brave weather for the crops this.

Indeed we should be deeply thankful for the marcies vouchsafed us.

Aye indeed.

Well indeed I would be that myself, only the half o' them young chickens goin' off with the gapes. It was a tarr'ble to do to save what's left o' them.

Oh well. Its all in the way o' Providence, Mr. Graeme.

That was a fine lecture on the Temperance ye gied us Mr. Graeme, at Ballykelly. It done some people a heap o' good.

Do you say so, Mrs. Granahan? I'm much pleased indeed to hear o' it.

I only wished more o' the same kind had heerd you.

But you'll excuse me, I'm sure. I ha'e some things next room to look after for the evenin'.

I am very much pleased indeed to hear your good woman say she liked what I said. How did ye take to it yourself, Mr. Granahan?

How did we like the speech you gave on temperance, d'ye say?

Och, it was a very good and sensible discoorse, so I heerd Ellen and Mrs. Granahan say.

Ye didn't go yourself then.

Man, I wanted ye there particuler.

I ha'e no doot if I had been there, I could ha' got up and contradickted ye, for

I did not agree wi' all I heerd ye said.

Not agree wi' what I said.

Man, ye couldn't argy wi' facts. What did ye disagree wi' in the discoorse?

Well for one thing, ye said there was too many public houses in the country.

And every right-minded man would agree wi' that.

Well I can shew you another. You'll no argy wi' me that if a man wants to drink, he will drink.

Well——

I suppose I do agree till that.

And if a man will drink, he's boun' till get drunk.

Na. Na. I don't agree till that.

Did you ivir hear tell of a man who was drunk wi'out drinkin'?

That's no' in the argyment at all.

But I tell you it is. A man's bound to be drinkin' if he gets drunk.

I'm no contradickin' that at all. I——

Now houl' your tongue till I explain till ye. If a man get's drunk when he's drinkin', he's bound to be drunk o' coorse.

Ye talk like a child.

Now wait till I get it hammered intill ye. Now when that man's drunk, he's boun' to ha'e been drinkin'.

Aye—in a public house o' coorse.

O' coorse. What else would he do there but drink.

Now that man gets drunk.

Aye.

Now the public houses are that scarce that he has till walk home maybe ten mile or more.

Well?

And ten till wan he gets lost or somethin', and they have the whole countryside upset lookin' for him. Now if he had a public house convanient in his own townland, there would be no bother at all, and he could be at his work the next mornin' wi'out any interruptin' o' labour. D'ye see what I mane?

The more public houses the less drinkin' did he say? If he had his way o' it, every other house from here to Buckna would be a public house.

Quit your wastin' Mr. Graeme's time wi' your argyments, and settle what he has come here to do wi' ye.

Well. Well. We'll agree till let the matter drop. You ha'e nobody but your daughter I suppose?

Well I ha'e a sister married up in Dublin.

But she's in a good way o' doin' I suppose?

Oh yes. Purty fair. O' coorse I would like to lave her somethin'.

Ach, gi'e her a lock o' your hair or somethin'. You'll lave the place to your daughter o' coorse.

Yes. I'll be doin' that.

Aye. It's a purty fair farm o' land. Ye bought it out o' coorse?

Two year come March, and a good reduction.

Aye. So I heerd. Well if ye gi'e her the farm and what money ye ha'e, I'll gi'e Robbie a cheque for a hunnert poun'.

William John Granahan d'ye think this is a horse fair? My daughter will ha'e no man unner five hunnert poun'.

Man, you'll nivir get her married John Graeme, at that way o' talkin'. Five hunnert poun'. D'ye think I'm a Rockyfellow? Ha'e some sense about ye.

Aither that or no son o' yours weds my daughter. Five hunnert poun' and not one ha'penny less. There's the family name to be thought o'.

Ach! family name! a lock o' ould wives' blathers about who was married till who, till you'd have your head sore takin' it all in.

You've heerd what I ha'e to say. Take it or lave it. You can plaze yourself.

Five hunnert poun'. It's a tarr'ble price. Would two hunnert no' do? You see I ha'e Samuel James and Ellen to provide for.

A Graeme o' Killainey weds no man unner five hunnert poun', William Granahan. Mind that. I want my daughter married to no beggarman.

Beggarman! Beggarman, did ye say? Hats, John Graeme, I think ye should be proud o' wan o' yours marryin' a Granahan. Money or no money, that's a nice way o' talkin'.

I suppose ye know I come o' good family, Mr. Granahan?

I heard ye were wance cotter folk up by Dromara mountain.

My father and my forefathers had my farm—aye, from the time o' the plantin'.

D'ye tell me? I nivir seen your laase o' the farm but of coorse if ye say so. Did ye nivir hear tell of Smith, Hunter, and Fargison?

John Smith of Ballykelly?

Yon cratur? Ballykelly?

Lonnon! Well my mother was a daughter o' Samuel James Smith, and a niece o' Robert John Francis Fargison.

I nivir heerd tell o' them.

I wonner at your ignorance John Grame. A well educated man like yourself as sets yourself up to be taching the congregation on matters o' law and the temperance question, (raising voice) and you that ignorant o' common information.

William John Granahan, didn't I tell ye not to be raisin' argyments. How you manage at the markets I nivir could understand. Get your business done, and ha' settled wi' it.

Whist, whist woman, I was only discoorsin'. Mind the tay and I'll mind the rest. There. There. I agree to your tarms, John Graeme. I'll do it, though it's lavin' me tarr'ble short.

But there's one thing I'll no ha'e, William Granahan.

And what might that be?

If your son is to marry my daughter, I'll ha'e none o' his music. Its all very well for quality and the like to go strummin' on instruments, but its no' meant for a sensible farmer.

Aye. I agree wi' that. But look here. Mind ye a song or two and a bit o' a tune on a long winter's night keeps one from thinkin' long and between you and me, it keeps you from the bottle.

That's where you and I differs. Supposin' he starts playin' a dance tune or two, and the neighbours gather in. You like to do the thing dacint, and ye send out for drink, and then it goes from bad to worse. Na. Na. I'll ha'e none o' that.

Well. Well. Make your mind aisy. Ye know he has promised me nivir to play again, and I don't think you'll hear much o' his fiddlin'.

I'm right glad to hear it, and I'll tak' your word for it.

Very good.

Man, you'd ha' made a great horsedailer John Graeme.

Aye. I had an uncle in the town, a dailer, and he was always sayin' that.

And well you could ha' done it, if I knowed anythin'. I'll go to Banbridge a Friday wi' you to settle wi' the lawyers.

Very good. I'll call for you wi' the trap that day. Its time I was for goin' home.

We were expectin' ye ower the day, and I think Mrs. Granahan has the tay laid in the low room.

Mrs. Granahan!

Yes.

We're just after settlin' up about Robbie John and Jennie. Can ye get us a drop o' tay?

If you could just take Mr. Graeme for a turn round, I could ha'e it for you in wan second. The table's laid and the kettle's boilin'. Is your daughter wi' you Mr. Graeme?

Aye. She was comin' over after me. I suppose she should be here by now.

Well I can show you the new reaper and binder I got. That new Wexford machine, I was tellin' you about a Sunday in the Session.

Very good. I'll just go out and see it.

Five hunnert poun, and after me tellin' him to keep till four hunnert. Wait till I get ahoult o' him again. I'll speak till him. Did he no' hear me thumpin' four times on the door till remind him. He must ha'e a soft spot in his heart for Robbie John.

Come in.

Oh its you Miss Graeme.

Youre welcome indeed. Your father's just gone out wi' my good man.

Yes. I know—but I thought perhaps—well that Robbie was in here.

Deed now, I couldn't tell you where he might be.

I'll just sit down a minute. I suppose you are all doing well here Mrs. Granahan?

Ach aye. As well as one could expeck. There's nothin' to make much complaint o'.

I haven't seen Robbie about for some time Mrs. Granahan. I suppose he's working hard at the harvest.

Aye 'deed there's a brave press o' work on now, what wi' the corn a cuttin', and the rest o' it, he's been gey busy o' late.

Indeed I am sure he was.

Is that the fiddle he was telling me about, I wonder?

Is that the tramp's fiddle, Mrs. Granahan?

Aye, that's the poor cratur's belongin'. But you needn't be afeared. Robbie's indeed been very good. He's nivir played on it to my knowin', and keeps his promise well.

Poor Robbie. Do you not think he's unhappy about something or other Mrs. Granahan. He's got very dull and moody this last while.

Deed now I don't see much odds in him Miss Graeme. He nivir was a great boy with his tongue anyway;

bar maybe an odd wan or two he would mak' up to.

I think you do wrong to keep that fiddle hanging up before his eyes, when he has promised never to play again.

Och blatherations. I nivir heerd the like o' the sort o' talk people goes on wi' nowadays. Do ye think my son bes only an ould ba cryin' for a toy? Deed now I don't think he worries his-self much about it.

Poor Robbie.

Robbie's a poor hand at the farming, Mrs. Granahan.

Och aye. But he's greatly mended since he giv up playin'.

Yes. He's a very poor farmer. But he was a wonder with his fiddle.

Oh well. It canna' be helped. He's better wi'out.

I don't know.

Robbie could have made it speak to you. He used to make me cry, and then laugh after it.

You just stay here a second till I fix the tay.

Who's that fiddlin'?

Why it's you. I heard you were come.

Yes. I'm just in a minute or two.

Robbie.

Well?

Answer me one question. Aren't you a very poor farmer?

Well—I—I suppose I am.

I knew you were. You're no good for selling cattle or going to market, or looking after crops.

You're very hard Jane to-night. What's put all that into your wee head?

I've been listening to this and its been tellin' stories on you.

Aye and when its hangin' there dumb its speakin' to me, callin' to me. Don't think I'm mad Jane but I can't stand it much longer. What makes them hang it there to temp' me? Why? Just because they think they can make a few miserable pounds, they'll keep it there makin' me a liar, a pledge breaker, a man who can't keep his promise. I'll end it now. I'll smash it.

No. No. I want to say—I want to ask something Robbie. What does it say to you?

What does it—Ach—I wonder would you laugh at me like the rest if I told you.

What does it say. Tell me. I would never laugh at you Robbie dear.

Ach—about—about takin' it and makin' a name for myself with it.

It sounds like fool talk doesn't it.

To my father and yours it would sound like that and Samuel James would laugh at you, but he'd encourage you to believe in it.

Let me break it then. Smash it.

No. Look Robbie if I said it was whispering you the truth, what would you say?

I would say that it was true. But you never would.

I say it is the truth.

You what? Ach you don't know what you say child. If I did take to it again, look what would happen. My father would turn me out, and your father would forbid me then ever lookin' at you again. Jane Graeme engaged to a penniless fiddler, and she the best match in the whole countryside. I need never think of you again Jane.

I don't care what they bid. If you took to that fiddle and went away, would you forget me soon?

Forget you, Jane? What makes you think that? Sure you know I gave it up sooner than lose you.

Then take that fiddle and do what your heart tells you to. I wondered often and often what it was that made you so sad, and I know now. God made you a musician and not a farmer.

And you? What would you do?

I know and trust some day God willing, you'll come back to me, rich and famous enough to have them all at your feet. I know you will.

God bless you wee girl for you're put a heart into me.

There. There. Bide a wee. Here they're all coming in for their tays.

So you're at it again, are you? Well I suppose there's no harm in giving Miss Graeme a tune, but I thought you were a man to your word.

Look here. I want you all to know I am goin' to try my luck with this.

You're goin' to lave us like to mak' money wi' it.

I'm goin' to try.

Robbie John are you daft. What wild nonsense are ye talkin' about. And you to be married at Christmas and everythin' settled about you this very day.

I am determined to do it. Nothin' can keep me back.

There. That's enough. My daughter jilted by a Granahan! Come home out o' this Jane Graeme.

You see what you ha'e done Robert John Granahan. Broken your parents' hearts, and made the name of the Granahans a disgrace to the countryside.

Quick d—n ye before it's too late.

My mind's made up. Give me the address of that Professor you told me of, Mr. Taylor.

You're a fool, Robbie.

There. That's it.

There's time yet, man. After John Graeme, and make it up wi' him. Swear you were only makin' fun.

I stick by the fiddle.

Then stick by the fiddle. And know if ever you are weary or ahungered or in want, ye need nivir look me for any help.

Out you go. Out. Don't dar one of you as much as till take his hand. Out. Out the same as the beggar man gone, wi' the curse of your father on you.

Out. Out you go.

Curtain.

EPILOGUE.