Rookery Down: Seven Monologues for Lockdown

By Neil Morley

Seven Monologues for Lockdown, based in Sussex, England, are designed for students of drama, amateur dramatic societies and readers of drama for the purposes of performance, training and study. They offer a contemporary study of an important time in our history, focusing on personal challenges and episodes. The collection contains Five Monologues for Lockdown published previously on Smashwords, free of charge, but now updated. Audio recordings of any performance will be gratefully received for dissemination at [e-mail].

• Language: English
• Publisher: Neil Morley
• Release date: Oct 28, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005501471

Neil Morley

Neil Morley is a retired publishing executive who specialised in international marketing and export for some of the world's leading educational publishers. His writing has been largely technical in nature for those interested and working in media industries and has focussed on international markets, distribution and representation.

Book preview

ROOKERY DOWN

SEVEN MONOLOGUES FOR LOCKDOWN

For Students of Drama and Amateur Dramatic Societies

Dramatic Training, Exercises and Experimentation

Written and Prepared by Neil Morley

Contents - Seven Monologues

1 – The Refuge

Jeannie, female, mid-sixties, retired

2 – The Village Festival

Vesta, female, late forties, busily retired

3 – The Collision

Tommy, male, retired ex-harbourside worker

4 – A Soliloquy of my Own

Doreen, female, office-worker and aspiring actor

5 - The Decision

Danny, male, sixth-former applying for university

6 – The Voyeur

Leonard, male, late forties, widower

7 – My Own Business

Jemma, female, early twenties, young entrepreneur

Rookery Down – Lockdown

1 – The Refuge

Jeannie Swift is a retired office manager from London, settled recently on the Sussex Downs. She and husband Henry, a retired psychiatrist, had sought the benefits of long-awaited partnership and remoteness in old age, but Henry had suffered a series of seriously debilitating strokes early in retirement, causing Jeannie to now fear their additional isolation from life through the recently announced Lockdown. Jeannie regards herself as resourceful and competent – a hangover from her working days - but media stories about violations of the Lockdown in remote places increase Jeannie’s apprehension, and even a mitigating visit from two friendly strangers, who she refers to as examples of ‘refugees’ to the countryside, fail to alleviate her growing paranoia. Jeannie finally finds solace in the muted understanding of Henry’s confidence in her ability to reassure and protect him – the main and clear objective remaining in her life – but there is a final acknowledgement that even this responsibility is becoming too much for her to shoulder.

(Introductory sounds from a rookery – Jeannie speaks to the audience…)

Can you remember the time?

The early days of our Lockdown…?

One of the very first issues brought so abruptly to our attention was the very sudden and apparently ‘unpredictable’ appearance of day-trippers to the beauty spots of Britain: the Peak and Lake Districts, the Highlands, the South-West coast, lakes and lochs, parks and paths, greenways and byways.

Do you remember?

The Peak District appeared on our screens that first weekend – the scene of an incursion into the Government’s guidance to stay-at-home and hunker down.

Aghast, we witnessed those shamelessly despoiling dog walkers featuring as a national news item. We applauded as they were shamed for finding their little bit of peace and escape from imminent imprisonment, towing clearly reluctant and unwillingly culpable pooches behind them.

We were shocked by their self-centred decisions to relish their last little bit of fun because it wasn’t going to be like this much longer.

Well, understandably, we thought our lovely spot in Rookery Down was to be no exception. Henry and I have a lovely little cottage adjacent to the Downs Way.

A fine retirement spot, Henry had said – and I agreed. So much for us to enjoy and appreciate at these later stages of life – relief from his position as a highly respected psychiatrist in London circles.

Henry had specialised in paranoia for his students - the effects of loneliness and isolation in his private practice. He felt well prepared for retirement, and here, around Rookery Down, there are lots of well-maintained paths to keep us exercised and safe. Lots of interesting places to visit, attractive venues for friends and visitors. There’s even a lovely tearoom.

Henry was enjoying himself and laughing more than he had for years. Henry had such sweet and infectious laughter. It would gush out of him…

How I miss that laugh. Life can strike you body blows from unknown quarters. How ironic that I find myself now caring for Henry in this other Lockdown blown in from yet another unknown place.

We only had a few months of our well-earned retirement before Henry’s first stroke. Such tragedies happen to so many people don’t they? The sudden change of lifestyle on retirement – so stressful. A busy and fulfilling life changing into one of unknowns and doubts - and then… suddenly… we find we have too much time on our hands.

Too much time on our hands – where am I hearing that nowadays?

Anyway, we were expecting a swarm of visitors to the Downs as a result of the Lockdown. I told Henry about it over his mashed breakfast. I tried to spot them coming during that first weekend.

Would they be appearing like ants in our car parks, wildebeest crossing the plains? Arriving in the lay-bys of our quiet country lanes and quickly dispersing like political renegades, dogs and children yapping and screaming in their wake?

Let’s face it - the policeman on the evening news had warned us. I warned Henry, but I don’t think he understands. I told him he might see people along the paths, in the hills, like they usually do… but many more of them.

I could understand that policeman’s concern. Perhaps he thought – knew – that there was something uglier and darker lurking inside our society when its cover of everyday security is stripped away. A policeman would have seen plenty of that, wouldn’t he?

Gosh – there I go – that’s the sort of reasoned thing my Henry would have said. The policeman said this was no holiday but a national crisis. That’s a ‘Henryism’ if anything is.

I always think of our