Photograph by Chandrika Narayanan-Mohan On Sunday 24th June 2018, Fishamble and Irish Rail partnered to create a day-long playwriting workshop between Dublin and Bray called #PlaysonaTrain, taking place on train carriages and in Bray itself. 9 playwrights were chosen from a social media competition, and by the end of the day these playwrights had each written a short play based on trains.
Off at the Next Stop by Emmaleene Leahy ACT 1 Scene 1 Three women sit on a train. Two sisters, Laura and Sarah and a third lady (Mary) with lots of bags and chatter. MARY: I watch the soaps. Now I’m not addicted to them. They’re on for half an hour and I watch them. If I miss them, sure I catch up. Sarah the older sister looks bored and scrolls through her phone. LAURA: I love to put my feet up with a good book. MARY: God, I’d be asleep by the first line. I’m too tired to read. LAURA: I find I’m looking at a screen all day, the last thing I want to see is a screen. MARY: Oh, I’m on my feet all day. Sarah catches Laura’s eye and throws her eyes up to heaven. The train stops (announcement "This train is now stopping at ...). Mary, not expecting it, flustered grabs bags and coat. MARY: This is my stop. Nice to see you ladies. I look forward to receiving the wedding invitation. Mary rushes off the train, almost tripping. SARAH: Thank God She’s gone. She doesn’t shut up. LAURA: Ah, she’s harmless enough. Just a bit lonely is all. Don’t be mean. SARAH: Oh, I know. I’ve been looking forward to a chat with my little sister is all. LAURA: I know. I was surprised when you rang me. SARAH: We never get to see each other. How have you been keeping? How are you and Tom getting on? LAURA: Great. Been busy with the wedding coming up. There’s so much to organize. SARAH: Actually, I want to talk to you about Tom. I heard some rumours and I didn’t want you to hear it from someone else. LAURA: What type of rumours? She gets out a nail file from her handbag and files a broken nail in an agitated way. SARAH: He was seen with someone else. LAURA: You were always so jealous of me. SARAH: I’m only telling you this because I care about you. I’m trying to save you from humiliation. LAURA: You just can’t bear to see anyone else happy. She puts her nail file back into her bag and slams it down. SARAH: Do you really want to marry a cheat? LAURA: You were the same when we were younger. You even caused Mam and Dad to split up for a while. SARAH: No, I didn’t. LAURA: You did anything for attention. SARAH: I was sick in hospital. LAURA: You starved yourself. SARAH: I had anorexia. LAURA: I don’t care. I’ve had enough of your bitterness spoiling everything all my life. I never want to see you again. SARAH: Ah Laura. LAURA: Don’t come near my wedding. Laura stands up and walks away. Scene 2 Tom is on the dart, on the phone to Laura. TOM: Yea, I’ll be late again tonight. Have to keep the client happy. How else are we going to pay for this wedding? An announcement chime rings out over the tanoy. TOM: Sorry I have to go. He hangs up quickly. He is jittery, bouncing his knee. He puts his phone in his pocket then takes it out again. He sends a text to Laura. "Sorry boss walked in had to hang up." His phone rings. TOM: Hi Sarah. He listens, nodding. Yea. I’ll be there in 20 minutes. Yea. See you then. The train stops, doors open a man in a shirt and tie, (Richard) gets on. Tom sees him slouches down, ducks his head, tries to cover his face to avoid eye contact. Richard walks down the aisle of the Dart and stops when he recognises Tom. RICHARD: Tom? Is that you? Tom looks up, a fake surprised expression on his face and a grin like a grimace. TOM: Richard? RICHARD: I thought it was you alright. Richard sits down beside Tom. I haven’t seen you in ages. Any news? You’ve a wedding coming up? TOM: Yeah, Yeah. RICHARD: What has you on this train. Didn’t you decide to build on the other side of town? What could you be going to Bray for? I presume that’s where you are going since it’s the only stop left. Tom blushes and shifts awkwardly in his seat. TOM: Ah, eh, um. Just a bit of unfinished business to sort out is all. Nothing interesting. Scene 3 Laura is on the train, a suitcase beside her, eyes puffy, a crumpled tissue in her hand. She stares vacantly out the window. Mary gets on, sees Laura. MARY: Laura is that you? Mary sits across from Laura. What are you doing here on the Dart? You are normally on the train. You must be doing something for the wedding, a fitting or something? How’re you fixed? I’m still waiting for my invitation. LAURA: Well, um actually, I’m not sure if it’s actually going to go ahead. It’s postponed. MARY: Oh, right? (Pause) And what are you up to now then? LAURA: Going to see my sister. MARY: That’s nice. And what’s the story with the wedding? Was it too expensive after building the house? Do you need more time to save or something? LAURA: No. MARY: What was it then? LAURA: I found him in bed with my sister. MARY: What? No way. Oh my God. Where? LAURA: In our bed. MARY: In that new house of yours? Laura nods eyes down. The one you just built together? It’s like a mansion. I heard you’ve all the mod cons, underfloor heating the lot. I can’t believe he did that he seemed so nice and charming. A proper gentleman. Mary notices the suitcase. MARY: Where are you really going? LAURA: To see my sister. MARY: After she did that to you? LAURA: I’m going to confront her. MARY: Are you sure you want to do that? LAURA: I’m on the train now, there’s no turning back. MARY: What’s the suitcase for? LAURA: For after, no point in hanging around. Nothing left for me here. Emmaleene Leahy is a teacher and writer. She has been successful in various writing competitions and has previously published some of her fiction, poetry and criticism. She has 1st class hons M.A. in Anglo-Irish Lit and drama and 1st class hons in Creative writing for Publication. She has recently discovered a love for screenwriting and was shortlisted by IFB twice in the past year. She absolutely loved the #Playsonatrain experience, it was a privilege to meet such an amazing group of people and to be creative in such a supportive atmosphere. She was so inspired that she kept writing. There’s a lot more to follow, let’s just say that things get a whole lot more dramatic when Laura turns up to her sister’s house to find Tom there and her sister Sarah who has some news for them both. Photograph by Chandrika Narayanan-Mohan On Sunday 24th June 2018, Fishamble and Irish Rail partnered to create a day-long playwriting workshop between Dublin and Bray called #PlaysonaTrain, taking place on train carriages and in Bray itself. 9 playwrights were chosen from a social media competition, and by the end of the day these playwrights had each written a short play based on trains.
The Brood by Kate O'Connor Characters: Aoife - the bride-to-be Sinéad - the bridesmaid Louise - a friend They all speak in Munster accents. Setting: the train departing Connolly, Aoife is adjusting her ‘bride-to-be’ crown while looking in a pocket mirror, Sinéad is busying herself with a bottle of Prosecco and a handful of plastic wine glasses, finally Louise comes rushing into the carriage, backpack on one shoulder, completely out of breath. Louise: Jesus, sorry I’m late; the 49 took forever this morning. Sinéad: We thought you were ghosting us Lou! Aoife: Ah, would ya stop. You’re grand Louise, sure you’re here now. We’ve had fierce drama already, didn’t Eddie’s Mam do a shot of Sambuca on the Luas on the way in, and now she’s hanging off the loo! Louise: Jesus, it’s a bit early for that isn’t it? And …. Well… like, she’s a bit over the hill for that kind of carry on, isn’t she? Sinéad: oooh, ageist now are we? Aoife: It’s her first hen, Eddie’s Dad told her that’s what him and the lads did on the stag and she thought we’d be the same. Sinéad: Ah no, we’re ladies (stands up and gestures around the carriage). The aim of the game girls is ENDURANCE. The running order is: Bubbly, food, drinks, nap, don the rig outs, then a fine big dinner, and sure that’ll have us set up so we’ve a good run at the night. (She does a little dance) Aoife, it’s gonna be a mad one (cheers) Aoife: (laughing) My last night as a single pringle. Are you ready, Lou Lou? Louise: (grabbing a bottle of Prosecco and taking a swig) Yeah, bring it on! Aoife: Wooh, we’re gonna find Louise a fine strap of a man, tonight. Road frontage and everything. Louise: (face dropping and muttering under her breath) uh, for fuck sake. (Then, out loud) Ah it’s your night Aoife, it’s all about you. (Starts to sing out of tune) It’s all about you, it’s all about you baby. Sinéad joins in and they sing a bar and then fade away as neither of them know the words. A voice comes over the intercom announcing the departure of the train to Galway and listing all the stops. The girls busy themselves in their seats, putting coats on racks, and placing rubbish in the bin, readying themselves for the journey. Louise unzips her top to reveal a t-shirt with a picture of Aoife on the front, and the caption ‘Aoife’s Hen’. Sinéad: Ah great, you got the t-shirt then. Louise: Yeah, it’s a fab picture of you Aoife (she turns around to reveal a picture of a man on the back with the words ‘She gives great H-Eddie’). Aoife: Thanks pet, it’s from our first holiday so it’s really sentimental. The girls are all sitting now, with Sinéad and Aoife facing Louise. Aoife: Oh Lou, are you bringing a plus one to the wedding? Louise: No, all’s quiet on the homestead just now, and I’d rather just focus on having a fun day with ye anyway (she awkwardly adjusts her hair). Sinéad: Y’know one of the girls in work signed up for Bumble, and she’s been on three dates with this lad from Bray, and she said he’s great. Like, he’s not a weirdo or anything. Aoife: That sounds great, you should give that a try Lou. Louise: Yeah (pauses) yeah, maybe. Sinéad: What happened with that Darren lad from work? I thought you two were getting along really well. Aoife: Eh, yeah - didn’t you guys score? Sinéad’s jaw drops as she turns to look at Louise. Louise looks away and then back again. Sinéad: Like, proper score? Louise: Yeah, it was a stupid thing to do. We were just really drunk on a Friday night a few weeks back. Aoife: Has he texted you since? Louise: No but (pauses) but Sharon from Procurement mentioned the other day that (pauses) well, apparently he’s fucking engaged. Aoife: NO FUCKING WAY. Jeeze, if he was a dog he’d be put down, that one. Sinéad: And did you know he had a girlfriend? Louise: Of course I didn’t. I wouldn’t of touched him if .. (she trails off and stares out the window). Aoife: He’s a right wanker Lou. I’m sorry, but you have to get back up on the horse, plenty more fish and all that. Louise: (sarcastically) Yeah, I’m sure there’s plenty more married men for me to fool around with. Aoife: And what’s that supposed to mean? Louise puts her face in her palms. Sinéad picks up her phone and pretends to be completely absorbed in it. Louise: Sorry Aoife, I didn’t mean anything by that. Aoife: I dunno why I ever told ye about that. It’s not that big a deal, it was just that one time and I was being a right mare around then, moaning about work all the time. Me and Eddie have put all that behind us now. I just wish everyone else would do the same. Sinéad: (puts her phone down) Of course Aoife love, and sure you know him better than anyone. Aoife: Like, every couple have their fights, you have to just ride the storm. That’s what being in a proper relationship is all about Louise. Louise: (Now indignant) Ah here Aoife just cos I won’t put up with some lad being a dirty dog, doesn’t make me incapable of being in a relationship. Aoife: Fuck off with your ‘hashtag me too’ shite. This is what love really is, it’s not all avocado and eggs on a Saturday morning (pause) ah, I don’t know why I’d expect you to understand. Louise looks hurt, Aoife turns her head away. Sinéad: (gently) Girls, let’s not ruin a great weekend with stupid talk about lads. Mates before dates, remember. Aoife: Well, I didn’t start it. Sinéad looks at Louise, gesturing to her to talk to Aoife. Louise relents. Louise: Sorry Aoif’- sure you know I’m mad about you and Eddie. Ye belong together. Sinéad: Yeah, like Brennan’s bread and cheese and onion Tayto’s. Aoife: Or, like Harry and Meghan. Louise raises a glass of Prosecco. Louise: To the royal wedding of Aoife and Eddie. Aoife: (raises her own glass) To finding Lou Lou a man. --- Originally from Limerick, Kate lives in Dublin and works in digital content management by day to pay for many, many trips to the theatre at night. Photograph by Chandrika Narayanan-Mohan On Sunday 24th June 2018, Fishamble and Irish Rail partnered to create a day-long playwriting workshop between Dublin and Bray called #PlaysonaTrain, taking place on train carriages and in Bray itself. 9 playwrights were chosen from a social media competition, and by the end of the day these playwrights had each written a short play based on trains. Train of Thought by Kevin Johnston
The carriage of a train. It’s a warm, sunny, Summer’s day. ADAM and BEN, dressed for the weather, sit beside each other, a small rucksack on Adam’s lap, and an empty bottle of water in Ben’s hand. BEN Here, d’ya have any more water in your bag there? I’m all out. ADAM Sure, hang on. Adam rummages through his bag. ADAM Oh shit, yeah. He takes out a bottle of water and hands it to Ben, who takes a big gulp from it whilst Adam continues to rummage through the bag, taking out a small brown paper bag, which he presents to a confused Ben. ADAM Here, I nearly forgot I got you these. Ben opens the bag to reveal a deck of cards. He takes them out and immediately starts shuffling them. BEN Aww, nice one! ADAM They’re fresh from Paris (He ironically pronounces it Par-ray). So don’t say I didn’t get you any nice presents. BEN Whilst shuffling the deck Thanks man. Here, think of a card, any card. ADAM And I figured I owe you a new set after ruining your other one from my leaving do. BEN Ah right of course! Jeez that was some night wasn’t it? ADAM Yeah, couldn’t have thought of a better way to say goodbye though. The train stops to allow passengers get on and off. Among the passengers who enter the train is a WOMAN of similar age to the boys. BEN [fingering through the cards in his hand] Okay, and look at me. ADAM How do they measure up to the old set set from the party? BEN [Whilst shuffling the deck] Haven’t broke them in properly yet, but they shuffle well – and that’s always a good sign. ADAM Well, they did a good job of making my money disappear – so there’s always that. Ben glares at Adam, who smirks in reply. BEN [removes card from the deck] Is this your card? ADAM No. BEN [performs a “snap change” trick, changing the card to the Queen of Diamonds] You sure? ADAM Geez Ben you’re way better than when I last saw you. BEN Well a lot has changed since we last saw each other. Speaking of which, I don’t even remember you leaving that party. ADAM That’s because Kate took me back to hers. Well, Sarah’s place technically – because she was holding her up for the night. BEN And yiz didn’t, y’know... [Clicks tongue], did yiz? ADAM No, we cuddled Disney movies all night. We both figured that’d be a nice way to cap a year’s worth of will-we, wont-we sexy texting. BEN Yeah but in Sarah’s gaff though? ADAM Listen, when a woman as sexy as Kate asks you to do shit as freaky as that, you’d drop your pants right now and do it here on the train. Ben looks uncomfortable, and silently reshuffles his deck for a while. BEN So now that you’re back, do you think yiz might get it on full time? ADAM Doubtful. I snuck out early the next morning because well, you know what Sarah’s ma is like. And then I left two days later. Haven’t talked since. BEN That’s a shame. The train lurches forward. Ben drops the deck. The WOMAN comes over to help tidy his mess. She hands over a handful of cards to Ben, but her smile drops upon making eye contact with the boys. She drops the cards on Ben’s lap and quickly moves to another side of the carriage. ADAM What’s her problem? BEN Ah it’s probably the heat – sure isn’t it everyone’s problem at this rate? Adam sighs. The train stops. ADAM Oh shit this is me. Talk t’ya man. They hug. BEN Yeah, yeah, bye. Adam gets off the train as Ben looks uneasily towards the Woman. He absent-mindedly shuffles the deck and bites his lip, deep in thought. After a while, he gets up and walks over to her. BEN Hey, I just wanted to- Kate? The WOMAN, now KATE, looks up at Ben, but upon recognising him her expression drops and she sighs. KATE Hello, Ben. BEN So it is you, I love the new hair. I just wanted to say if I upset you back there, I’m sorry. KATE You didn’t upset me. BEN Are you sure, because you looked pretty steamed. KATE Yes, it’s just – I didn’t know he – no, never mind. The train stops. BEN No seriously, what’s wrong? Is it something to do with Adam? KATE Just leave me alone, okay?. She puts in her earphones and leaves the train. Ben looks on at her, concerned. He stands for a while in pensive silence as the train moves forward again. Eventually, he takes out his phone, and punches in a number. BEN Hi, Sarah?... It’s Ben... Yeah, yeah I’m not too bad... Listen, I was wondering if we could meet up for a chat soon?... Can we not do any sooner? I’m not sure if this can afford to wait... It’s about Adam’s leaving do last November... Yeah, tomorrow suits. Lights fade down as Ben confirms details down the phone. END. Kevin is from Clondalkin, Dublin and has a great interest in both English-language and Irish-language theatre, in particular writing, performing and directing. He also has an interest in prose writing. His most recent play, Delayed, was performed by Acting Out Theatre Group as part of their Christmas Short Play Festival in 2017. He really enjoyed the company and supportive atmosphere of the Plays on a Train workshop, and would highly recommend the experience to others. Photograph by Chandrika Narayanan-Mohan On Sunday 24th June 2018, Fishamble and Irish Rail partnered to create a day-long playwriting workshop between Dublin and Bray called #PlaysonaTrain, taking place on train carriages and in Bray itself. 9 playwrights were chosen from a social media competition, and by the end of the day these playwrights had each written a short play based on trains.
Strangers on a Dart by Maureen Penrose Bea sits on the Bray train, staring out the window. Leo gets on and sits opposite. Both are in and around their sixties. Bea has three or four bags with her. Leo carries the morning paper. Bea: (sings) Bray trains, Bray trains Going so fast Bray trains, Bray trains Going so fast Leo: What’s that yer singing? Bea: It’s a real old song. Me Ma used to sing it when I was a kid. I never heard who sang it? Leo: Jeez, ye have me there. Never knew there was a song about the Bray train. Good to know. I must google it and learn it. I like a good Irish song. Bea: Any good song’ll do me. I don’t care what nationality they are. Bea looks back out the window. Leo looks at the front page. Leo: What do ye think of yer man coming to Ireland? Pope Francis? Do ye think ye’ll go to see him? There’s not so much excitement this time, is there? Anyway, they say ye shouldn’t discuss religion or politics. Opens his Daily Mail and takes out his pen to do the crossword. Silence for half a minute. Bea: Well it won’t suit me to have him coming. No offence to the man, but my hotel will be putting me out to make way for “real” guests. I don’t know where I’ll be staying. I’m sick of moving around and not knowing where I’ll be tomorrow night. I’m too bleedin’ old for this. Ye can tell your Pope I won’t be on his welcoming committee………..Mind you……….I remember when Pope John Paul came. I went up to the Phoenix Park to see him. Me and me Ma had little Pope stools, so we could sit down. It was a great day. My cousin was selling tea and sandwiches. She made a fortune. Leo: (nostalgic smile) Ah now! I was there too. I think the whole of Dublin was there. That was a great celebration. Like Italia 90! Great times. Jeez, we were a different country back then. A more innocent country. We didn’t know about Bishop Casey, or Father Michael Cleary. And they were just seeing women. Worse was to come. A lot of very sick priests and a very sick church. “God” bless our innocence. Rotten to the core! Yes, and not one black face in the Phoenix Park. We were a poor country and nobody wanted to immigrate. Bea: We had houses. It was a poor country, but the County Council was building houses. Blanchardstown, Clondalkin, Tallaght. Thousands of houses. I had a house in Blanch. I had it lovely. Never done cleaning, polishing and washing. Ha! My fella used to be afraid to put his butt in the ashtray! I think I had OCD. I got rid of the OCD when I went on the Prozac. Mother’s little helper. Do ye remember that song? The Beatles sang it. Back in the 60’s. The swinging 60’s. I was told the 60’s were great, but my 60’s are not great. They are shite! Leo: I’ll be 60 next month. I’m looking forward to my 60’s, retiring and taking it easy. Are ye not living in Blanchardstown anymore? Did you say you live in a hotel? Sounds like the lap of luxury. I might win the Lotto and retire to the Shelbourne, or the Gresham. Bea: Do ye know nothing? Do ye know nothing? Do ye know nothing? Leo: (hands raised in surrender) Okay! Okay! Okay! Tell me, and then I’ll know… Bea: Ye don’t want to know. Nobody wants to know. Do ye not read the papers? Put your nose back in your crossword there. Leave me alone. I’m sick of ye! Leo puts the head down and focuses on his crossword. Leo thinks: Mind your own business Leo. That’s what the missus always says: Mind your own business Leo. Leo: (mutters) GEGS (9,4) What’s that? 9 letters and four letters? What sort of a clue is that? Bea: My bastard of a husband used to pulverise me. It’s how he kept fit. None of yer gyms for my Tony. Oh no! I was his sparring partner. I was his punchbag. I had to run for me life, after thirty years. I knew it was my time to die. He was getting worse and worse, the more lines of white he shovelled up his nose. I got to live in hotels, after I left the refuge. He got my lovely house. Oh, I took him to court, but the Judge wasn’t impressed that I was taking Prozac. Tony made me out to be mad. The Judge thought I was of unsound mind, I think. Maybe I am? I am the result of an unsound life. Ha ha! Did ye ever hear this one? Who’s the nicest guy in the hospital? Leo: I don’t know. Who is this paragon? Bea: The Ultrasound guy! Get it? The ultra-sound guy? Ha ha! Bea giggles, maybe a little manic Leo thinks: Don’t ask about her children Bea: I’m a granny, and a great granny. Would you believe that? I do drop out to see the family, but I wont live with any of them. I’m not putting that on them, no matter what they say. Anyway, they don’t like the way I sing all the time, in public or in private. Does that mean I am of unsound mind? It can’t really, can it? I hear the sound of music in my mind. I have a surround sound mind. Everything reminds me of a song. I’m sitting here and thinking of TRAIN songs. Can you think of any? What’s your name anyway? (holds out her hand to shake) I’m Bea. Queen Bea that was ha ha! Leo: I’m Leo. Very pleased to make your acquaintance. Bea: Folsom prison blues, (sings) I hear that train a-coming, rolling round the bend…. (sings) Pardon me miss, is this the Chattanooga Choo Choo Gospel songs do ye like them? I love black peoples gospel songs. They sound right to people who have been sad. (sings) This train is bound for glory, this train…. And yer man Chris De Burgh: Do ye remember The Spanish Train? I used to have that LP. It was brilliant! Probably worth a few bob now, that old LP. Leo: The Monkees. The Last Train to Clarksville Bea: Yeah! Brilliant! Did you watch the Monkees on telly? Peter Tork was my favourite. All me friends loved Davy Jones. But I liked Peter Tork. The quiet one. My ex looked a bit like Peter Tork. Blond, blue eyed, lanky, shy looking. See where that got me! Stupid girl that I was! They were right. It’s the quiet ones ye have to watch. So now I’m homeless and anxious and living inside my sound-ful mind ha ha! Off to Bray to smell the sea. To see something beautiful. At least I have my bus pass. I love my bus pass. I can get on the train and go anywhere. I can step out of my life and be someone else, somewhere else, for a few hours. Leo: I was a Blondie fan. She was beautiful. I am a lucky man. I get to live in Bray, beside the sea. I’m glad to meet your good self and have a nice chat. That’s the thing about the train. If you’re not stuck into your mobile phone, you get to meet people. Good people. People with stories to share. Bea: You look a little bit like Peter Tork. Did anybody ever tell you that? END. Maureen Penrose lives in Blanchardstown and is a community activist and great-grandmother. She loves drama and the arts. They can help change the world! The world needs some tweaking.... Photograph by Chandrika Narayanan-Mohan On Sunday 24th June 2018, Fishamble and Irish Rail partnered to create a day-long playwriting workshop between Dublin and Bray called #PlaysonaTrain, taking place on train carriages and in Bray itself. 9 playwrights were chosen from a social media competition, and by the end of the day these playwrights had each written a short play based on trains.
Play on a Train by Saoirse Anton Characters: Áine – An older woman. Dressed in earthy, ethereal clothes. Síofra – A younger woman. Dressed with hints of the ethereal, but with more concession to conventional fashion. *** Early morning, between moonlight and sunlight. A train carriage, two seats facing each other with a table in between. Áine pre-set in one sat. Some time before Síofra enters. Síofra enters, a black box clutched tightly in her arms. She is nervous but determined. She has the air of someone who was once strong but has been worn down. She is a woman escaping something. Áine notices Síofra, she knows something that we (and maybe Síofra) don’t know yet. Síofra notices Áine and there is a moment of strong connection, verging on recognition between them. Síofra sits opposite Áine, the box still clutched in her arms. Silence. Áine (A): Morning Síofra reacts. More silence. A:You know there is a luggage rack. Indicating to the box. Síofra shakes her head. A: Or the table? Síofra refuses again. A: Right, can I ask what it is that you won’t put it down? Pause. A: Ah, ok, I should have guessed the answer to that one. Where are you off to anyway? Síofra (S): Wherever I get off. A: That’s the best place to go. I’ve been there myself, a good few years ago now. And I’d imaging you, like me, came from wherever you got on at? Síofra reacts, a little nervous or confused, definitely not comfortable. A: Well, we can’t help but keep going where we’re going. Have you had your breakfast yet? S: Not yet. A: Want some? Offers some food she has just taken out of her bag. S: No, thanks, you’re grand. A: Ah sure, yer one with the trolley will be round soon. Silence for a while. Not uncomfortable. After a bit Síofra slowly places the box on the table, not being comfortable holding it on her knee. Áine acknowledges it. A: I wonder where that trolley’s gotten to. The train’s not the only thing that needs fuel! Síofra laughs, the first really open, comfortable response she has given. Suddenly the train stops. An announcement apologises for the delay. Síofra sighs. A: Looks like we’ll be here a while. Should have brought some tea. S: Yeah, hope it gets moving again quickly. A: Ah sure, we’ll get there eventually. No rush, is there? S: No, I suppose not. They both look out the window again. Síofra fidgets a bit. A: You haven’t told me your name. S: You haven’t told me yours. A: Áine. S: Síofra. A: Well Síofra, who are you? S: What sort of a question...? How am I meant to answer that? A: Well surely you, of all people, should know the answer to that one? Siofra snorts and looks out the window, unnerved or unsettled. A crow flies past the window. A: Morrigan. There’s a battle to be lost or won today. Síofra is becoming more unsettled. A pause as they look out the window. A: So Síofra (reaching for the clasp on the box) who are you? She flicks the clasp open with click. At the sound Síofra whips around to look at her. S: Leave that alone! She tries to shut the box but it is already too late. The contents have been revealed. It is a model box of Síofra’s home. A: Home? She clearly already knew what was in the box. Síofra is angry. Looks back out the window. S: Yes. A: Why did... S: Don’t ask. A: Síofra S: I said don’t ask. Silence Áine watches Síofra surreptitiously as Síofra begins to play with and rearrange items in the box. S: I didn’t have a choice. A: Who made you leave? S: Well, no one, I decided to go. A: You decided but you didn’t have a choice? S: I just had to, alright? A: Alright. Silence. S: I wasn’t right for it. It’s my home, god, I know it like the back of my hand, been there all my life, but I shouldn’t be there, have been there. Wasn’t right, not welcome. A: Or maybe it wasn’t right for you? S: No. Looks out the window. Begins to speak slowly as Áine begins to move items around in the model box. S: It’s me. I never fitted. I suppose I belonged elsewhere. The girl who was sick so often they didn’t think she’d survive, but then when she did was too strong, too alive for them to accept. I remember one day in junior infants, I was the youngest in the class, only just turned four when we started, and the teacher was standing over my desk, with the disappointed look she reserved just for me. I can’t remember what I had done that time, there was always something, coloured a white horse that should have been brown, sang the wrong song that no-one else knew, mentioned a memory she didn’t believe, noticed something more than I should have. I don’t know. But that look followed me everywhere, on different faces, in different guises – at home, at school, at mass, at work. A: Followed? S: Follows. She moves the Síofra figurine to the edge of the box, the others to the far side. S: Follows. Changed, changes. Took on a new tone. Confusion and disappointment to, disappointment and...something else... I walked too tall, talked too surely, knew too much. Everywhere I turned, every face I knew wore this disappointment and... oh I don’t know. Why am I telling you this? She tries to shut the box, but I won’t close. Áine looks on, knowingly. We get the sense that she is stopping the box from closing. Síofra gives up, confused and frustrated, and looks out the window again. A: Fear. S: What? A: Fear, disappointment and fear. S: Don’t be stupid. Fear? Who would be afraid of me? The sickly girl who can’t quite get things right, and the strange woman who sort of gave up trying? Yeah, right, so scary. Áine just watches her. S: Fear? No it’s more like, oh I don’t know, it’s like, disappointment and... She gradually realises that Áine is right. A: People fear what they don’t know, what they can’t know. S: What do you mean? I’ve lived there forever, they know me, I know them. The train begins to move again at some point during this piece. A: Do they? Do you? You know that Catherine Keane had a baby last week, that Paulie Mahony is cheating on his wife, that Maura Casey is going to go out of business soon if she doesn’t stop giving everyone everything on credit. They know you just finished your leaving cert, that you’ve worked in Brady’s two years and five months next week... S: Hold on, how do you...? A: You know about them, they know about you. But you don’t know them and they don’t know you. The understanding isn’t there because you haven’t found your tribe yet, your people, the ones who know you as well as you know yourself when you stand with your feet on the ground and feel the energy of yourself, your past, your future, your place flowing through you. We fear what we don’t know, it holds a power we can’t contain. Síofra has been listening intently, a change coming over her that has been brewing since she first saw Áine. Silence “The Changeling’s Lullaby” begins playing softly as an instrumental. The train stops. After a moment Síofra slowly stands, looks at the box. She leaves it on the table, turns and leaves the train with the walk of a queen. Áine softly sings “The Changeling’s Lullaby” as the lights draw inwards to her, then just the light on/in the box as she finishes the song. Blackout END. Saoirse is a theatremaker & critic, writer, poet, feminist, enthusiast, optimist, opinionated scamp & human being. She’s trying her best to make the world a better place. Photograph by Chandrika Narayanan-Mohan On Sunday 24th June 2018, Fishamble and Irish Rail partnered to create a day-long playwriting workshop between Dublin and Bray called #PlaysonaTrain, taking place on train carriages and in Bray itself. 9 playwrights were chosen from a social media competition, and by the end of the day these playwrights had each written a short play based on trains.
LOVE ON A DART? by Eamonnn O'Shiel A quite full Dart Carriage at Pearse Station, the station piano is playing the ‘Marino Waltz’. A man carrying a large bunch of flowers enters the carriage. He stands near centre stage and holds onto the strap above his head. V.O.: This train is for Bray, Bre. The tune changes to 'Something Stupid', a woman enters. The carriage is now packed She struggles through the ‘crowd to stand facing the man, close but not touching. She carries a handbag. She reaches up to hold the strap above her. She takes a step backwards, he takes a step forwards as the train starts to move. The flowers touch her face and as they return to original positions she sneezes. Together they say: HIM: Bless you. HER: Excuse me. She looks at the flowers. HER: Oh, I'm sorry I think I dead headed your tulip. Although their eyes never meet except when actually talking they are constantly looking at each other then away. HIM: It's alright I can afford to lose a tulip or two. HER: They're really beautiful. Again we hear ‘Something stupid’ being played on a piano as the woman closes her eyes and waltzes around the carriage holding her handbag as if it were her dance partner. She returns to where she started from. HIM: I'm glad you think so,.......serious brownie points needed. HER: Ah, I see. HIM: No, it's not what you think, they're for my sister. HER: Really!!? HIM: Yes, for Mother’s Day. HER: UhHu.....that was last Sunday week. HIM: Yes, I've been away. Sarah, my sister minded the twins for me. She's a hero. HER: Ah, I see. HIM: She's been great really ever since...... HER: Ever since?.....Oh I'm sorry I didn't mean to.... HIM: Pry? No I'm sure you didn't. She steps closer to him as the train stops. They are very close, touching. HER: God I'm sorry, this train is so damn packed HIM: It was. HER: What? HIM: It was packed. It's loosened out quite a bit now. He takes a step backwards. We hear ‘Marino Waltz’ on the piano again and this time he waltzes about her, dancing with the flowers. He dances back to where he started from. HIM: See? HER: OH,....yes. He steps back in to her as the train starts again. She doesn't retreat. Neither move. They are looking into each other’s eyes. HER: The twins? HIM: Hmm? HER: You said your sister minded the twins for you? He takes a half step backwards. HIM: Oh, yeah, she's great. Loves them like they were her own, and those boys can be a handful sometimes. HER: Twin boys? Really? What age are they? HIM: Four…….and three quarters! V.O. Next station, Sidney Parade. HER: Oh shit I’ve missed my stop. HIM: Oh, don’t worry, so have I. ‘Can’t Take My Eyes Off you’ plays as they drop the flowers and handbag to the floor and waltz together around the carriage. END Eamonn O’Shiel has been involved in Amateur drama in Dublin, Wicklow and Wexford for over 30 years. A retired Garda and graduate of Bray Institute of Further Education (Performing Arts) he is now trying his hand at writing for the stage and looks forward to developing this craft further. Photograph by Chandrika Narayanan-Mohan On Sunday 24th June 2018, Fishamble and Irish Rail partnered to create a day-long playwriting workshop between Dublin and Bray called #PlaysonaTrain, taking place on train carriages and in Bray itself. 9 playwrights were chosen from a social media competition, and by the end of the day these playwrights had each written a short play based on trains.
A SHORT PLAY by Linda Butler A young woman, mid-twenties, sits on the DART, alone. She is crocheting. We can't see what she's making as she has just recently begun. The wool is white. Her eyes are red and swollen. Two small boys under five years old are running up and down the carriage, screaming and playing. Their mother is standing at the connecting door between carriages, shouting at someone in the next carriage. There is a child's buggy beside her. MOTHER: “And where were you while I was raising your boys? (a pause, indistinct shouting from next carriage) You were not working – you haven't done a tap of work in your life. I want to know where you were for three years!” ANNOUNCEMENT: “The next station is Shankill. Sean Chill” The train stops and the doors open. An elderly man gets on and sits opposite the crocheting woman as the train pulls off again. The indistinct shouting continues as the man takes a bottle of sunscreen out of a backpack, removes his cap and glasses, lathers his face with sunscreen, and replaces his glasses. MOTHER: “You can go to fuck! I'm keeping it, and you'll never find us, you bleedin' lazy shite!” The mother slams the connecting door, barricading it with her buggy. The others on the train have frozen with shock, but go back to what they were doing after a second. Then, in a Kerry accent: OLD MAN: (awkwardly, to crocheting woman) “'Tis a beautiful day.” The woman feigns a brief smile and continues crocheting. OLD MAN: “I'm off to the seaside for a bit of icecream. And a bit of a tan I suppose. Haha!” WOMAN: (reluctantly) “Yeah, it's a lovely day all right.” OLD MAN: “Bit warm for a scarf. Or what is it you're knitting?” WOMAN: (stops crocheting, doesn't look up) “Em...it's a blanket” OLD MAN: “Ah, very good. My wife did a bit of knitting herself, Lord rest her. Was very good at the baby stuff. Did all the Communion cardigans, Christening robes. Baby blankets for all the grandchildren. Is it for a boy or a girl?” WOMAN: (pause) “...a girl” OLD MAN: “Oh very nice. Very nice. (The two boys run past. The first one screams as his brother chases him with a foam sword.) I suppose you're happy not to be having a boy! Haha!” WOMAN: (stops crocheting and looks up at the two boys) “I wouldn't mind either way.” MOTHER: (to boys) “Wha? No, I've no more bleedin' crisps. You'll have to wait till we get to McDonalds. (boys start to cry) “Shurrup! Or the man will throw ye off the train!” OLD MAN: “So, have you made a lot of blankets?” WOMAN: “No, actually this is my first one. (does the wrong stitch) Shit! Sorry, I've lost count.” OLD MAN: “Oh God, sorry, that was my fault distracting you! Sure, we're coming into Bray now. Take care now. Congratulations again! Take care.” The old man gets up, grabs his backpack and walks to the door. ANNOUNCEMENT: “This train terminates at the next station, which is Bray. Bré” The crocheting woman unravels her work and throws the crochet hook and wool back into her bag. The train doors open. The old man gets out, followed by the boys and their mother. MOTHER: (leaving, ushering the boys outside) “Gerroff the train!” The crocheting woman sits, staring out the window, leaning on her hand. She sniffs, but struggles not to cry. She's alone. A train worker enters the carriage by the connecting door. He picks up crisp packets left by the boys, and checks the remaining seats. He sees the woman still sitting. WORKER: “Sorry love, did you not hear the announcement? We're terminating in Bray. If you're going any further, you have to get off here.” WOMAN: (looks up at the train worker, on the verge of tears) “Terminating?” WORKER: “Yep. You have to get off and wait for the next one.” WOMAN: (gathers her stuff together and stands up.) “Yeah....I'll wait for the next one.” She leaves the train. Fade to black. END. Linda Butler is a mother of two who enjoys crochet, science fiction and thinking about writing. She keeps meaning to write that mini-series, and already has her IFTA dress picked out. Photograph by Chandrika Narayanan-Mohan On Sunday 24th June 2018, Fishamble and Irish Rail partnered to create a day-long playwriting workshop between Dublin and Bray called #PlaysonaTrain, taking place on train carriages and in Bray itself. 9 playwrights were chosen from a social media competition, and by the end of the day these playwrights had each written a short play based on trains. Here is the first of the 9 plays, My Lovely Molly written by Christopher Galvin.
MY LOVELY MOLLY A train carriage. Two women are sitting across from each other. The older woman, MOLLY, in her 70’s, is all dressed up. Across from her sits THERESE, her daughter. Therese is in her forties. She’s dressed all in black. She looks like she has been crying. The sound of the train moving can be heard underneath their conversation. MOLLY: It’ll be grand. THERESE: It won’t. MOLLY: Ah it won’t so. But you’ll be grand. THERESE: I won’t. MOLLY: You will. THERESE: Mum! MOLLY: I’ll be meeting your father soon. THERESE: Oh. MOLLY: Yes. I’m going to give him a right good kicking. THERESE: Mum! MOLLY: And a clatter round the ear. THERESE: He won’t like that. MOLLY: No. He won’t. He’ll get it all the same. The train gently rocks beneath them. MOLLY: God black doesn’t suit you at all. You look so dour. THERESE: Are you kidding me? MOLLY: Look at what I’m wearing. MOLLY waves her legs, delighted with herself. MOLLY: I couldn’t give a shite. THERESE: Pity that wasn’t always the way. MOLLY: Ah, pity sure. THERESE looks around the carriage. She spies something above. THERESE (musing): Did you like Paul Simon? MOLLY: Who? THERESE: Paul Simon? MOLLY: Never heard of him. THERESE: You know. ‘Graceland’, ‘Shining Like a National Guitar’, ‘Call Me Al’? MOLLY: No. THERESE: Simon and Garfunkel? ‘Bridge Over Troubled Water’? ‘Scarborough Fair’? MOLLY: Oh… Art Garfunkel! I know him. Great stuff. THERESE: What? MOLLY: Big bowl of hair on him. Lovely singer. THERESE: I don’t… MOLLY: Of course I know who Paul Simon is! (laughs) Why do you ask? THERESE nods at the ad she spied overhead. THERESE: He’s in concert here next week. MOLLY: You should go. THERESE: I’m not in the mood. MOLLY: Sure you’ll be in a better mood next week. THERESE: Do you think so? MOLLY (sad): No. They sit in silence for a moment. MOLLY hums then begins to sing ‘The Boston Burglar’. She sings a few bars and stops. THERESE begins to cry. MOLLY: I hated Dickie Rock. THERESE (through her sobs): Did he sing that song? MOLLY: I hope not. I like that song. Dickie Rock sounded like a turkey being strangled. THERESE: You were always an odd fish. MOLLY: Aye. THERESE looks at her phone. MOLLY: No news from your brother? THERESE: He said he’d be there. There’s no signal to ring him. I think it gets better when we get through the tunnel. Silence for a moment. MOLLY: I’m sorry. The apology hangs in the air. THERESE: It’s not your fault. Did you plan it? MOLLY: No. No. But I thought I’d say it all the same. THERESE: What’s it like… there? MOLLY: Where? THERESE: There. MOLLY: Surprisingly mild. Not too hot. Not too cold. THERESE: Just right. MOLLY: Just right. THERESE: I hope. THERESE leans forward. THERESE: I love you. You know that. MOLLY: I know. I love you too. The stage goes dark as they go through the tunnel. When the stage brightens again, THERESE is on her own. MOLLY is gone. THERESE’s phone rings. THERESE: Hello Brian. Yes. Yes. I’m the next stop. I’ll meet you there. Yes. I have the eulogy prepared. I know. I know. I miss her too. The train? Quiet enough. I had company though. That passed the time. The lights fade. THE END Christopher Galvin is from Croghan, County Offaly. He has a background in Theatre, TV and Film, with a BA Hons Degree in Video. He works as a short film director, writer and editor (and occasional theatre/film actor). His latest short film 'Stuck' has had a successful run on the film festival circuit and he has just self published his first book, 'Strings', a fantasy novel for children. He would highly recommend the 'Plays on a Train' Workshop. It was a creative experience with an amazing group of people. |