The Kingdom

Colin Teevan

• Publisher: Oberon Books
• Year: 2012
• ISBN:
  9781849435918
• Edition: 1
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: British Drama
• Index: Literature

"I was never part of any gang that killed a man" Three Irishmen. Digging. Telling tales to put down the day. But as they dig down, long buried secrets begin to emerge and the story they tell is as dark as the earth itself. It's a tale full of rich and striking characters which vividly captures life as an Irish navvy in the last century - a world of immigration, violence, sex, triumph and, ultimately, tragedy. Rooted in the dramas of ancient Greece, The Kingdom, the latest play by acclaimed playwright Colin Teevan is both haunting and lyrical.

1.

Three men, a YOUNG MAN, a middle-aged MAN and an OLD MAN dig. They dig throughout.

The YOUNG MAN alternates between erratic bursts of unfocused energy and resting. He wears an old workman’s suit, a hand-me-down from another era. It is too small for him.

The MAN works steadily and powerfully with the practised ease of someone for whom this is not the daily grind but a place where he can demonstrate his superiority. He wears a 1970s suit that, while still that of a working man, is tailored to fit. He takes care to keep it clean and orderly.

The OLD MAN wears a suit similar to that of the Man but it is old and worn and now too large for him. Though blind he works automatically from a lifetime of habit.

The words emerge from the rhythm of the work, and the breathing required to accomplish the digging sets the pace.

Lights rise to discover the men working.

YOUNG MAN

‘Out of my road, tinker,’ says the man –

MAN

Bit further on today.

YOUNG MAN

At the crossroads above Threemiletown –

MAN

Wants it all moved by close of play.

YOUNG MAN

Been walking the roads since dawn,
Ten, fifteen miles beyond Ros na Gréine,
Heart light, free at last.

MAN

Be through the other side soon, they say.

YOUNG MAN

Five of them there are all told.

MAN

Then, the open road.

YOUNG MAN

I just stop and look at him, stand my ground.

OLD MAN

Go on believing, if it helps,
Telling yourself stories,
If it helps put down the day.

YOUNG MAN

But no mistaking who was boss.

MAN

Sun on our backs.

OLD MAN

One road’s the same as another, when you’re digging it.

YOUNG MAN

Four mill round the fifth like nervous dogs.

OLD MAN

One hole the same as another when you’re in it.

YOUNG MAN

His eyes are dark, his hair black,
But tell-tale grey about the sides. Dyed.
And his heels are raised. The vanity of little men.
He carries a spade.
‘What?’ I says.
‘You heard,’ he says, ‘I won’t say it again.’
‘A travelling man, I might be,’ I says,
‘But I’m no gypsy, mister.’
‘Your feet are bare and swollen, fella,
You look like a tinker
Or the bastard of a tinker’s whore to me.
And I should know,
I’ve ridden every one that’s set foot in the county.’
The others laugh on cue.
‘I’ll admit it, mister, I am poor,
But this is a public thoroughfare,
And a free country, or so they say.’
He laughs this time and shakes his head.
‘And I did not escape that school,’ says I,
‘To be told what to do by any man no more.’
‘Is that so?’ he says.
‘It is,’ says I, ‘I’ll not move on point of principle.’
‘Point of principle, do you hear?
A lad who can’t afford a pair of shoes,
Thinks he can afford a principle.
Out of my road,’ he says, ‘shit on my shoe!’
‘It’s you who’s in my way, old man,’ I say.

The YOUNG MAN brings down his pick resolutely.

OLD MAN

Burn yourself out, swinging that way –

YOUNG MAN

(Ignoring him.) The others start to circle me.

OLD MAN

Like the hammers of hell –

YOUNG MAN

Barging at me with their shoulders –

OLD MAN

Slow and steady.

YOUNG MAN

Softening me up for him, they think.

OLD MAN

A lifetime of this ahead of you.

YOUNG MAN

If I learnt one thing at that school, I learnt this.
Don’t rise to them, don’t respond –

OLD MAN

Slow and steady –

YOUNG MAN

Stand your ground,
Leave them guessing your next move.

OLD MAN

Let the pick do the work.
Let the shaft slide through your hand –

YOUNG MAN

Let him think you’ll take the beating
With the butt-end of the spade that he’s swinging –

OLD MAN

Then let the head’s heft carry it through the air,
Down –

YOUNG MAN

But as it comes down I catch it,
And I have it off of him,
And it’s me who’s doing the swinging.

OLD MAN

Hit the same spot again and again –

YOUNG MAN

And I’ve felled one –

OLD MAN

It will soon weaken.

YOUNG MAN

Two, three, more fall to the ground,
Then off they scurry, like rats down a ditch.
And their boss, the brave custodian of the way,
Who’d beat a pinned man with the butt-end of a spade,
Is off and running too,
Towards the nearby church for sanctuary.
But I chase after him, and catch him,
Just as his hand’s upon the handle,
And haul him by the collar from the door,
And throw him to the earth.
And in that graveyard above Threemiletown
I repay his coward’s blow,
Not with the butt-end, but with the blade.

Beat.

OLD MAN

The hardest earth in the end shall yield.

YOUNG MAN

I take his b...

Table of contents

• Front Cover
• Half-title Page
• Title Page
• Copyright
• Contents
• Characters
• Acknowledgements
• Section 1
• Section 2
• Section 3
• Section 4
• Section 5
• Section 6
• Section 7
• Section 8
• Section 9
• Section 10
• Section 11