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BEST BROADCASTS OF 1939-40
Woman. — (Sings) Cross the silent empty ballroom,
Doubt and danger past.
Blow the cobwebs from the mirror.
See yourself at last.
Sound. — Steps on wooden floor.
Woman. — (Sings) Put your hand behind the wainscot.
You have done your part.
Find the penknife there and plunge it Into your false heart.
Sound. — Clock strikes . . . Board jade . . . Wind . . . Door opening and shutting . . . Goose Jades in.
Woman. — Yes, Nana, I’m coming. And how did my dear Nana enjoy the shower? Freshened you up a bit, eh? Still, it’s nice to have got it over. Look, the sun’s coming out over the valley. We shall have a fine evening after all. The day is going to end well for all of us. But now I warn you, Nana, this grindstone is going to make a horrid noise.
Sound. — Grindstone.
Woman. — I’m sorry, but it has to be done. Life can’t always be pleasant, can it? Geese have to hatch eggs and grow fat. And old women have to sharpen knives. What for? Why? You may well ask, but who knows? Why are we alive? Why don’t we die ?
Sound. — Distant church bells.
Woman. — It’s Sunday evening, Nana. Time for all respectable people to take their prayer books and go to church with their charming children, kneel in pews and murmur responses, sing hymns to the organ and hear a sermon and be gently assured that, somehow or other, all things for the righteous shall come right in the end. (Pause) The minister is modem and well mannered and mild and well read in evolution and the latest theories of physics and astronomy and is tolerance itself. The flames of hell are an old-fashioned idea, for his God is a mathematician and much like a man and under¬ stands perfectly and expects little. For business is business, and boys will be boys, and lust is a natural need like eating, and the search for the gold of grace is a grueling voyage.
Sound. — Coop opens . . . goose.
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