Amy Powell Yeates You Can’t Kill the Spirit

Amy Powell Yeates

You Can’t Kill the Spirit

A dawn chorus: robins, blackbirds, woodpeckers. The sun is rising gradually through the scene. rose (50s) sits on a muddy patch of grass, eating an apple and reading a book. She is dressed in a giant handmade teddy bear costume. A mesh wire fence looms behind her but it’s not yet light enough to make out the top of it. morfydd (early 30s) enters, also dressed as a teddy bear. She has a camera strap hooked around her neck and is holding a smaller teddy. A moment of acknowledgement between them. Morfydd looks around curiously with her camera. Eventually, she points the lens in the direction of Rose. The shutter clicks and Morfydd quickly moves the camera away. Rose looks up.

Morfydd: Sorry. Rose: Would it have hurt you to ask? Morfydd: No. Sorry, it wasn’t actually of you. Don’t worry.

Rose studies Morfydd.

Rose: No? What was it of then?

Morfydd: Well, you might be a bit… You might be in it but you weren’t you know, In It.

Rose looks behind her. Nothing. She returns to her book and her apple. After a while, she offers Morfydd a bite.

You’re alright, ta.

Rose shrugs and goes back to her book.

I’d kill for a bacon butty though.

Morfydd laughs. Rose does not react.

Before I left, I told Dylan – Dylan’s my eldest – leave the meat in the pan as long as nerve will allow. Crisp the fat, and never be tempted to go too early with the red sauce on the bread while you wait. You’ll only end up with a soggy orange layer ‘tween your rasher and your slice of Hovis and no-one wants that. And go easy on the marg for Dad. No doubt Angharad’ll start making his lunch before long and we know what she feeds her Dai. Butter basically oozing out of the crusts. Looked at me like I’d spat in her face, when I told her I was coming here. Tightened her lips as best she could but eventually the words just came spilling out of her: ‘It’s not always all about you, Morfydd’. She kept crying on my Trevor and saying he didn’t deserve any of it. D’you have children?

Rose: New are you?

Morfydd: Ish. My friend Rhiannon was meant to come too but she had a last-minute change of heart. Actually, it was her Mam. I know it was. She– Rose: What was it, Myfanwy? Morfydd: Morfydd (Mrs Evans) –Rose: Which gate? Morfydd: Oh… yellow. And what about you? Rose: It’s alright there. Rose. Morfydd: Great to meet you Rose. Yeah, people have been really kind. Rose: Cushty. Morfydd: Yes! Well. I’m not sure I’d go that far. Rose: Who have you met there? Morfydd: Oh, heaps of women, yeah. They’re all really nice.

The lights gradually fading up begin to reveal coils of barbed wire around the top of the fence. Rose finishes her apple and lobs the core over the top of it. Morfydd looks at the barbed wire.

Rose: If you want meat you’ll have to go into the town. Morfydd: We went in for the fabrics. Not sure I’d go back in a hurry. They were good to us in the department store though mind, snuck in some bolts with the off-cuts. When we got back, we stitched and stitched. And I made this with the leftovers. (She attaches the teddy to the fence.) Rose: Well, they’d better get a move on.

Morfydd: I have to say I did think the point of meeting so early was for the cover from the light / Rose: / light. That’s the idea, yep. Morfydd: Can I ask you, is there a girl who lives here? Rose: Plenty have brought children. Morfydd: But there’s a girl I often see on her own and I could have sworn it was her I saw on my way here this morning. Looks as though she’s patrolling the grounds, weaving through the silver birches. Disappears behind a bender tent as fast as she appeared from around a fence corner. She has a blue raincoat and her hair is in terrible knots. I feel as though I ought to give it a good brush. Have you seen her? Have you been inside the base before? What was it like? Were you arrested? Rose: You know you don’t have to go over. Morfydd: I know. Rose: Just don’t delay the rest of us will you. Morfydd: No. Yes. I won’t.

Morfydd puts a hand on her belly. It sparks a splinter of sympathy in Rose. The coils of barbed wire are now in clear view. A pause. Rose begins to sing Sarah’s Song. She sings with conviction. The song is a tool of strength, it’s not a lullaby.

Rose: They can forbid nearly everything But they can’t forbid me to think And they can’t forbid the flowers to grow And they can’t shut my mouth when I sing

Morfydd joins in.

They can forbid nearly everything But they can’t forbid me to think And they can’t forbid the sun to shine (Rose looks at Morfydd) And they can’t shut my mouth when I sing …How do you know –

photographer (pg) enters

PG: Sorry to interrupt (he’s clearly not sorry). Are you the ladies going over? Morfydd: Hi, yes, yes, we are. Rose: (To Morfydd) This a colleague of yours? PG: You don’t make it easy for us lot finding you. Morfydd: (To Rose) Wha d’you mean? Rose: (To PG) I’m sorry, we thought trying to save the human race from itself might be sufficient without a tourist information point. Morfydd: (To Rose) A colleague? Rose: (To Morfydd) You talk a lot. It can be a sign. Kept going on about bacon sandwiches.

Morfydd: I was trying to be friendly. Rose: And the camera. And how do you know Sarah’s Song? Morfydd: I can’t believe this. PG: (Entertained) Now now, ladies. Morfydd: Thank you for being here. The profile, it’s very important. Rose: (Wry) Essential, in fact. Morfydd: Well, it is. PG: Thought I might have missed it. Would’ve been a wasted journey at crack of dawn. Where’s your pals? Rose: All waiting for you, David Bailey. Morfydd: (To PG) Most of the women are coming with the ladders and carpets, they’ll be here any moment. (To Rose) People like you think you can do all this on your own. Well, I’m afraid you can’t. (To PG) Can we answer any questions at all? Rose: Don’t even bother. PG: Yes actually.

They both pause, ready for his question.

What’s with the bear thing?

Buzzing chatter can be heard as women in teddy bear costumes begin to pour through the auditorium. They cross the fence. Except Morfydd. She’s the last one, hesitating. From halfway up another woman holds out a hand. Morfydd takes it and crosses.

From near the fence, mary, a little girl in a blue raincoat emerges. She surveys the scene, looking for debris and keepsakes. She notices the teddy on the fence and, stretching for it, she unties it. Distracted by the barking of dogs behind her – she scarpers with the teddy. The pounding beat of ‘Joan of Arc (Maid of Orleans)’ by Orchestral Manoeuvres In The Dark.