That was Jim--never knu from day to day what was cumin'. "Therr's another of 'em dead," 'e used to say, "'tes funny, tu" "Well," I used to say to 'im; "no wonder, poor little things, livin' in they model dwellin's. Therr's no air for 'em," I used to say. "Well," 'e used to say, "what can I du, Mother? Can't afford to live in Park Lane:" An' 'e take an' went to Ameriky. [Her voice for the first time is truly doleful] An' never came back. Fine feller. So that's my four sons--One's dead, an' one's in--That, an' one's in Ameriky, an' Bob 'ere, poor boy, 'e always was a talker.
[LEMMY, who has re-seated himself in the window and taken up his fiddle, twangs the strings.]
PRESS. And now a few words about your work, Mrs. Lemmy?
MRS. L. Well, I sews.
PRESS. [Writing] "Sews." Yes?
MRS. L. [Holding up her unfinished pair of trousers] I putt in the button'oles, I stretches the flies, I lines the crutch, I putt on this bindin', [She holds up the calico that binds the top] I sews on the buttons, I press the seams--Tuppence three farthin's the pair.
PRESS. Twopence three farthings a pair! Worse than a penny a line!
MRS. L. In a gude day I gets thru four pairs, but they'm gettin' plaguey 'ard for my old fengers.
PRESS. [Writing] "A monumental figure, on whose labour is built the mighty edifice of our industrialism."
LEMMY. I sy--that's good. Yer'll keep that, won't yet?
MRS. L. I finds me own cotton, tuppence three farthin's, and other expension is a penny three farthin's.
PRESS. And are you an exception, Mrs. Lemmy?
MRS. L. What's that?
LEMMY. Wot price the uvvers, old lydy? Is there a lot of yer sewin' yer fingers orf at tuppence 'ypenny the pair?
MRS. L. I can't tell yu that. I never sees nothin' in 'ere. I pays a penny to that little gell to bring me a dozen pair an' fetch 'em back. Poor little thing, she'm 'ardly strong enough to carry 'em.
Feel! They'm very 'eavy!
PRESS. On the conscience of Society!
LEMMY. I sy put that dahn, won't yer?
PRESS. Have things changed much since the war, Mrs. Lemmy?
MRS. L. Cotton's a lot dearer.
PRESS. All round, I mean.
MRS. L. Aw! Yu don' never get no change, not in my profession.
[She oscillates the trousers] I've a-been in trousers fifteen year; ever since I got to old for laundry.
PRESS. [Writing] "For fifteen years sewn trousers." What would a good week be, Mrs. Lemmy?
MRS. L. 'Tes a very gude week, five shellin's.
LEMMY. [From the window] Bloomin' millionairess, Muvver. She's lookin' forward to 'eaven, where vey don't wear no trahsers.
MRS. L. [With spirit] 'Tidn for me to zay whether they du. An' 'tes on'y when I'm a bit low-sperrity-like as I wants to go therr.
What I am a-lukin' forward to, though, 'tes a day in the country.
I've not a-had one since before the war. A kind lady brought me in that bit of 'eather; 'tes wonderful sweet stuff when the 'oney's in et. When I was a little gell I used to zet in the 'eather gatherin' the whorts, an' me little mouth all black wi' eatin' them. 'Twas in the 'eather I used to zet, Sundays, courtin'. All flesh is grass--an' 'tesn't no bad thing--grass.
PRESS. [Writing] "The old pagani** of the country." What is your view of life, Mrs. Lemmy?
LEMMY. [Suddenly] Wot is 'er voo of life? Shall I tell yer mine?
Life's a disease--a blinkin' oak-apple! Daon't myke no mistyke. An' 'umen life's a yumourous disease; that's all the difference. Why--wot else can it be? See the bloomin' promise an' the blighted performance--different as a 'eadline to the noos inside. But yer couldn't myke Muvver see vat--not if yer talked to 'er for a wok.
Muvver still believes in fings. She's a country gell; at a 'undred and fifty she'll be a country gell, won't yer, old lydy?
MRS. L. Well, 'tesn't never been 'ome to me in London. I lived in the country forty year--I did my lovin' there; I burried father therr. Therr bain't nothin' in life, yu know, but a bit o' lovin'--all said an' done; bit o' lovin', with the wind, an' the stars out.
LEMMY. [In a loud apologetic whisper] She 'yn't often like this. I told yer she'd got a glawss o' port in 'er.