Mother’s Day by J.B. Priestley

Mother’s Day by J.B. Priestley
The following play is a humorous portrayal of the status of the mother in a
family. Let’s read on to see how Mrs Pearson’s family reacts when she tries
to stand up for her own rights.

Characters
MRS ANNIE PEARSON
GEORGE PEARSON
DORIS PEARSON
CYRIL PEARSON
MRS FITZGERALD
The action takes place in the living-room of the
Pearsons’ house in a London suburb.
Time: The Present
Scene: The living-room of the Pearson family. Afternoon. It is a comfortably
furnished, much lived-in room in a small suburban semi-detached villa.
If necessary only one door need be used, but it is better with two—one
up left leading to the front door and the stairs and the other in the right
wall leading to the kitchen and the back door. There can be a muslincovered
window in the left wall and possibly one in the right wall, too.
The fireplace is assumed to be in the fourth wall. There is a settee up
right, an armchair down left and one down right. A small table with two
chairs on either side of it stands at the centre.
MMMootthheerr’’ss DDaayy 33 33
When the curtain rises it is an afternoon in early autumn and the
stage can be well lit. Mrs Pearson at right, and Mrs Fitzgerald at left, are
sitting opposite each other at the small table, on which are two tea-cups
and saucers and the cards with which Mrs Fitzgerald has been telling
Mrs Pearson’s fortune. Mrs Pearson is a pleasant but worried-looking
woman in her forties. Mrs Fitzgerald is older, heavier and a strong and
sinister personality. She is smoking. It is very important that these two
should have sharply contrasting voices—Mrs Pearson speaking in a light,
flurried sort of tone, with a touch of suburban Cockney perhaps; and Mrs
Fitzgerald with a deep voice, rather Irish perhaps.
MRS FITZGERALD: [collecting up the cards] And that’s all I can
tell you, Mrs Pearson. Could be a good
fortune. Could be a bad one. All depends
on yourself now. Make up your mind—and
there it is.
MRS PEARSON: Yes, thank you, Mrs Fitzgerald. I’m much
obliged, I’m sure. It’s wonderful having a
real fortune-teller living next door. Did you
learn that out East, too?
34 Snapshots
MRS FITZGERALD: I did. Twelve years I had of it, with my old
man rising to be Lieutenant Quartermaster.
He learnt a lot, and I learnt a lot more.
But will you make up your mind now,
Mrs Pearson dear? Put your foot down,
once an’ for all, an’ be the mistress of your
own house an’ the boss of your own family.
MRS PEARSON: [smiling apologetically] That’s easier said
than done. Besides I’m so fond of them even
if they are so thoughtless and selfish. They
don’t mean to be...
MRS FITZGERALD: [cutting in] Maybe not. But it’ud be better
for them if they learnt to treat you properly...
MRS PEARSON: Yes, I suppose it would, in a way.
MRS FITZGERALD: No doubt about it at all. Who’s the better
for being spoilt—grown man, lad or girl?
Nobody. You think it does ’em good when
you run after them all the time, take their
orders as if you were the servant in the
house, stay at home every night while they
go out enjoying themselves? Never in all your
life. It’s the ruin of them as well as you.
Husbands, sons, daughters should be
taking notice of wives an’ mothers, not giving
’em orders an’ treating ’em like dirt. An’ don’t
tell me you don’t know what I mean, for I
know more than you’ve told me.
MRS PEARSON: [dubiously] I—keep dropping a hint...
MRS FITZGERALD: Hint? It’s more than hints your family needs,
Mrs Pearson.
MRS PEARSON: [dubiously] I suppose it is. But I do hate
any unpleasantness. And it’s so hard to
know where to start. I keep making up my
mind to have it out with them but somehow
I don’t know how to begin. [She glances at
her watch or at a clock ] Oh—good gracious!
Look at the time. Nothing ready and they’ll
be home any minute and probably all in a
hurry to go out again.
MMMootthheerr’’ss DDaayy 35 35
[As she is about to rise, Mrs Fitzgerald reaches
out across the table and pulls her down.]
MRS FITZGERALD: Let ’em wait or look after themselves for
once. This is where your foot goes down.
Start now. [She lights a cigarette from the
one she has just finished.]
MRS PEARSON: [embarrassed] Mrs Fitzgerald—I know you
mean well—in fact, I agree with you— but I
just can’t—and it’s no use you trying to make
me. If I promise you I’d really have it out with
them, I know I wouldn’t be able to keep my
promise.
MRS FITZGERALD: Then let me do it.
MRS PEARSON: [flustered] Oh no—thank you very much,
Mrs Fitzgerald—but that wouldn’t do at all.
It couldn’t possibly be somebody else—
they’d resent it at once and wouldn’t listen—
and really I couldn’t blame them. I know I
ought to do it—but you see how it is? [She
looks apologetically across the table, smiling
rather miserably.]
MRS FITZGERALD: [coolly] You haven’t got the idea.
MRS PEARSON: [bewildered] Oh—I’m sorry—I thought you
asked me to let you do it.
MRS FITZGERALD: I did. But not as me—as you.
MRS PEARSON: But—I don’t understand. You couldn’t be
me.
MRS FITZGERALD: [coolly] We change places. Or—really—
bodies. You look like me. I look like you.
MRS PEARSON: But that’s impossible.
MRS FITZGERALD: How do you know? Ever tried it?
MRS PEARSON: No, of course not...
MRS FITZGERALD: [coolly] I have. Not for some time but it still
ought to work. Won’t last long, but long
enough for what we want to do. Learnt it
out East, of course, where they’re up to all
these tricks. [She holds her hand out across
the table, keeping the cigarette in her mouth]
Gimme your hands, dear.
MRS PEARSON: [dubiously] Well—I don’t know—is it right?
36 Snapshots
MRS FITZGERALD: It’s your only chance. Give me your hands
an’ keep quiet a minute. Just don’t think
about anything. [Taking her hands] Now look
at me. [They stare at each other. Muttering]
Arshtatta dum—arshtatta lam—arshtatta
lamdumbona...
[This little scene should be acted very carefully. We are to assume
that the personalities change bodies. After the spell has been
spoken, both women, still grasping hands, go lax, as if the life
were out of them. Then both come to life, but with the personality
of the other. Each must try to adopt the voice and mannerisms of
the other. So now Mrs Pearson is bold and dominating and Mrs
Fitzgerald is nervous and fluttering.]
MRS PEARSON: [now with Mrs Fitzgerald’s personality] See
what I mean, dear? [She notices the cigarette]
Here—you don’t want that. [She snatches
it and puts it in her own mouth, puffing
contentedly.]
[Mrs Fitzgerald, now with Mrs Pearson’s personality, looks down
at herself and sees that her body has changed and gives a scream
of fright.]
MRS FITZGERALD: [with Mrs Pearson’s personality] Oh—it’s
happened.
MRS PEARSON: [complacently] Of course it’s happened. Very
neat. Didn’t know I had it in me.
MRS FITZGERALD: [alarmed] But whatever shall I do, Mrs
Fitzgerald? George and the children can’t
see me like this.
MRS PEARSON: [grimly] They aren’t going to—that’s the
point. They’ll have me to deal with—only
they won’t know it.
MRS FITZGERALD: [still alarmed] But what if we can’t change
back? It’ud be terrible.
MRS PEARSON: Here—steady, Mrs Pearson—if you had to
live my life it wouldn’t be so bad. You’d have
more fun as me than you’ve had as you.
MRS FITZGERALD: Yes—but I don’t want to be anybody else...
MRS PEARSON: Now—stop worrying. It’s easier changing
back—I can do it any time we want...
MRS FITZGERALD: Well—do it now...
MMMootthheerr’’ss DDaayy 37 37
MRS PEARSON: Not likely. I’ve got to deal with your family
first. That’s the idea, isn’t it? Didn’t know
how to begin with ‘em, you said. Well. I’ll
show you.
MRS FITZGERALD: But what am I going to do?
MRS PEARSON: Go into my house for a bit—there’s nobody
there—then pop back and see how we’re
doing. You ought to enjoy it. Better get off
now before one of ’em comes.
MRS FITZGERALD: [nervously rising] Yes—I suppose that’s
best. You’re sure it’ll be all right?
MRS PEARSON: [chuckling] It’ll be wonderful. Now off you
go, dear.
[Mrs Fitzgerald crosses and hurries out through the door right.
Left to herself, Mrs Pearson smokes away—lighting another
cigarette—and begins laying out the cards for patience on
the table.
After a few moments Doris Pearson comes bursting in left. She
is a pretty girl in her early twenties, who would be pleasant enough
if she had not been spoilt.]
DORIS: [before she has taken anything in] Mum—
you’ll have to iron my yellow silk. I must
wear it tonight. [She now sees what is
happening, and is astounded.] What are you
doing? [She moves down left centre.]
[Mrs Pearson now uses her ordinary voice, but her manner is not
fluttering and apologetic but cool and incisive.]
MRS PEARSON: [not even looking up] What d’you think I’m
doing—whitewashing the ceiling?
DORIS: [still astounded] But you’re smoking!
MRS PEARSON: That’s right, dear. No law against it, is there?
DORIS: But I thought you didn’t smoke.
MRS PEARSON: Then you thought wrong.
DORIS: Are we having tea in the kitchen?
MRS PEARSON: Have it where you like, dear.
DORIS: [angrily] Do you mean it isn’t ready?
MRS PEARSON: Yours isn’t. I’ve had all I want. Might go out
later and get a square meal at the
Clarendon.
DORIS: [hardly believing her ears] Who might?
38 Snapshots
MRS PEARSON: I might. Who d’you think?
DORIS: [staring at her] Mum—what’s the matter
with you?
MRS PEARSON: Don’t be silly.
DORIS: [indignantly] It’s not me that’s being silly—
and I must say it’s a bit much when I’ve
been working hard all day and you can’t
even bother to get my tea ready. Did you
hear what I said about my yellow silk?
MRS PEARSON: No. Don’t you like it now? I never did.
DORIS: [indignantly] Of course I like it. And I’m going
to wear it tonight. So I want it ironed.
MRS PEARSON: Want it ironed? What d’you think it’s going
to do—iron itself?
DORIS: No, you’re going to iron it for me... You
always do.
MRS PEARSON: Well, this time I don’t. And don’t talk rubbish
to me about working hard. I’ve a good idea
how much you do, Doris Pearson. I put in
twice the hours you do, and get no wages
nor thanks for it. Why are you going to wear
your yellow silk? Where are you going?
DORIS: [sulkily] Out with Charlie Spence.
MRS PEARSON: Why?
DORIS: [wildly] Why? Why? What’s the matter with
you? Why shouldn’t I go out with Charlie
Spence if he asks me and I want to? Any
objections? Go on—you might as well tell
me...
MRS PEARSON: [severely] Can’t you find anybody better? I
wouldn’t be seen dead with Charlie Spence.
Buck teeth and half-witted...
DORIS: He isn’t...
MRS PEARSON: When I was your age I’d have found
somebody better than Charlie Spence—or
given myself up as a bad job.
DORIS: [nearly in tears] Oh—shut up!
[Doris runs out left. Mrs Pearson chuckles and begins putting the
cards together.
After a moment Cyril Pearson enters left. He is the masculine
counterpart of Doris.]
MMMootthheerr’’ss DDaayy 39 39
CYRIL: [briskly] Hello—Mum. Tea ready?
MRS PEARSON: No.
CYRIL: [moving to the table; annoyed] Why not?
MRS PEARSON: [coolly] I couldn’t bother.
CYRIL: Feeling off-colour or something?
MRS PEARSON: Never felt better in my life.
CYRIL: [aggressively] What’s the idea then?
MRS PEARSON: Just a change.
CYRIL: [briskly] Well, snap out of it, Ma—and get
cracking. Haven’t too much time.
[Cyril is about to go when Mrs Pearson’s voice checks him.]
MRS PEARSON: I’ve plenty of time.
CYRIL: Yes, but I haven’t. Got a busy night tonight.
[moving left to the door] Did you put my
things out?
MRS PEARSON: [coolly] Can’t remember. But I doubt it.
CYRIL: [moving to the table; protesting] Now—look.
When I asked you this morning, you
promised. You said you’d have to look
through ‘em first in case there was any
mending.
MRS PEARSON: Yes—well now I’ve decided I don’t like
mending.
CYRIL: That’s a nice way to talk—what would
happen if we all talked like that?
MRS PEARSON: You all do talk like that. If there’s something
at home you don’t want to do, you don’t do
it. If it’s something at your work, you get
the Union to bar it. Now all that’s happened
is that I’ve joined the movement.
CYRIL: [staggered] I don’t get this, Mum. What’s
going on?
MRS PEARSON: [laconic and sinister] Changes.
[Doris enters left. She is in the process of dressing and is now
wearing a wrap. She looks pale and red-eyed.]
MRS PEARSON: You look terrible. I wouldn’t wear that face
even for Charlie Spence.
DORIS: [moving above the table; angrily] Oh—shut
up about Charlie Spence. And anyhow I’m
not ready yet—just dressing. And if I do look
40 Snapshots
terrible, it’s your fault—you made me cry.
CYRIL: [curious] Why—what did she do?
DORIS: Never you mind.
MRS PEARSON: [rising and preparing to move to the kitchen]
Have we any stout left? I can’t remember.
CYRIL: Bottle or two, I think. But you don’t want
stout now.
MRS PEARSON: [moving left slowly] I do.
CYRIL: What for?
MRS PEARSON: [turning at the door] To drink—you clot!
[Mrs Pearson exits right. Instantly Cyril and Doris are in a huddle,
close together at left centre, rapidly whispering.]
DORIS: Has she been like that with you, too?
CYRIL: Yes—no tea ready—couldn’t care less...
DORIS: Well, I’m glad it’s both of us. I thought I’d
done something wrong.
CYRIL: So did I. But it’s her of course...
DORIS: She was smoking and playing cards when I
came in. I couldn’t believe my eyes.
CYRIL: I asked her if she was feeling off-colour and
she said she wasn’t.
DORIS: Well, she’s suddenly all different. An’ that’s
what made me cry. It wasn’t what she said
but the way she said it—an’ the way she
looked.
CYRIL: Haven’t noticed that. She looks just the
same to me.
DORIS: She doesn’t to me. Do you think she could
have hit her head or something—y’know—
an’ got—what is it?—y’know...
CYRIL: [staggered] Do you mean she’s barmy?
DORIS: No, you fathead. Y’know—concussion. She
might have.
CYRIL: Sounds far-fetched.
DORIS: Well, she’s far-fetched, if you ask me. [She
suddenly begins to giggle.]
CYRIL: Now then—what is it?
DORIS: If she’s going to be like this when Dad comes
home... [She giggles again.]
CYRIL: [beginning to guffaw] I’m staying in for
MMMootthheerr’’ss DDaayy 41 41
that—two front dress circles for the first
house...
[Mrs Pearson enters right, carrying a bottle of stout and a halffilled
glass. Cyril and Doris try to stop their guffawing and giggling,
but they are not quick enough. Mrs Pearson regards them with
contempt.]
MRS PEARSON [coldly] You two are always talking about
being grown-up—why don’t you both try
for once to be your age? [She moves to the
settee and sits.]
CYRIL: Can’t we laugh now?
MRS PEARSON Yes, if it’s funny. Go on, tell me. Make me
laugh. I could do with it.
DORIS: Y’know you never understand our jokes,
Mum...
42 Snapshots
MRS PEARSON: I was yawning at your jokes before you were
born, Doris.
DORIS: [almost tearful again] What’s making you
talk like this? What have we done?
MRS PEARSON: [promptly] Nothing but come in, ask for
something, go out again, then come back
when there’s nowhere else to go.
CYRIL: [aggressively] Look—if you won’t get tea
ready, then I’ll find something to eat myself...
MRS PEARSON: Why not? Help yourself. [She takes a sip of
stout.]
CYRIL: [turning on his way to the kitchen] Mind you,
I think it’s a bit thick. I’ve been working all
day.
DORIS: Same here.
MRS PEARSON: (calmly) Eight hour day!
CYRIL: Yes—eight hour day—an’ don’t forget it.
MRS PEARSON: I’ve done my eight hours.
CYRIL: That’s different.
DORIS: Of course it is.
MRS PEARSON: [calmly] It was. Now it isn’t. Forty-hour
week for all now. Just watch it at the
weekend when I have my two days off.
[Doris and Cyril exchange alarmed glances. Then they stare at
Mrs Pearson who returns their look calmly.]
CYRIL: Must grab something to eat. Looks as if I’ll
need to keep my strength up. [Cyril exits to
the kitchen.]
DORIS: [moving to the settee; anxiously] Mummy,
you don’t mean you’re not going to do
anything on Saturday and Sunday?
MRS PEARSON: [airily] No, I wouldn’t go that far. I might
make a bed or two and do a bit of cooking
as a favour. Which means, of course, I’ll have
to be asked very nicely and thanked for
everything and generally made a fuss of. But
any of you forty-hour-a-weekers who expect
to be waited on hand and foot on Saturday
and Sunday, with no thanks for it, are in
for a nasty disappointment. Might go off for
the week-end perhaps.
MMMootthheerr’’ss DDaayy 43 43
DORIS: [aghast] Go off for the week-end?
MRS PEARSON: Why not? I could do with a change. Stuck
here day after day, week after week. If I don’t
need a change, who does?
DORIS: But where would you go, who would you go
with?
MRS PEARSON: That’s my business. You don’t ask me where
you should go and who you should go with,
do you?
DORIS: That’s different.
MRS PEARSON: The only difference is that I’m a lot older
and better able to look after myself, so it’s
you who should do the asking.
DORIS: Did you fall or hit yourself with something?
MRS PEARSON: [coldly] No. But I’ll hit you with something,
girl, if you don’t stop asking silly questions.
[Doris stares at her open-mouthed, ready to
cry.]
DORIS: Oh—this is awful... [She begins to cry, not
passionately.]
MRS PEARSON: [coldly] Stop blubbering. You’re not a baby.
If you’re old enough to go out with Charlie
Spence, you’re old enough to behave
properly. Now stop it.
[George Pearson enters left. He is about fifty, fundamentally decent
but solemn, self-important, pompous. Preferably he should be a
heavy, slow-moving type. He notices Doris’s tears.]
GEORGE: Hello—what’s this? Can’t be anything to cry
about.
DORIS: [through sobs] You’ll see.
[Doris runs out left with a sob or two on the way. George stares
after her a moment, then looks at Mrs Pearson.]
GEORGE: Did she say ‘You’ll see’...?
MRS PEARSON: Yes.
GEORGE: What did she mean?
MRS PEARSON: Better ask her.
[George looks slowly again at the door then at Mrs Pearson. Then
he notices the stout that Mrs Pearson raises for another sip. His
eyes almost bulge.]
44 Snapshots
GEORGE: Stout?
MRS PEARSON: Yes.
GEORGE: [amazed] What are you drinking stout for?
MRS PEARSON: Because I fancied some.
GEORGE: At this time of day?
MRS PEARSON: Yes—what’s wrong with it at this time of
day?
GEORGE: [bewildered] Nothing, I suppose, Annie—
but I’ve never seen you do it before...
MRS PEARSON: Well, you’re seeing me now.
GEORGE: [with heavy distaste] Yes, an’ I don’t like it.
It doesn’t look right. I’m surprised at you.
MRS PEARSON: Well, that ought to be a nice change for you.
GEORGE: What do you mean?
MRS PEARSON: It must be some time since you were
surprised at me, George.
GEORGE: I don’t like surprises—I’m all for a steady
going on—you ought to know that by this
time. By the way, I forgot to tell you this
morning I wouldn’t want any tea. Special
snooker match night at the club tonight—
an’ a bit of supper going. So no tea.
MRS PEARSON: That’s all right. There isn’t any.
GEORGE: [astonished] You mean you didn’t get any
ready?
MRS PEARSON: Yes. And a good thing, too, as it’s turned
out.
GEORGE: [aggrieved] That’s all very well, but suppose
I’d wanted some?
MRS PEARSON: My goodness! Listen to the man! Annoyed
because I don’t get a tea for him that he
doesn’t even want. Ever tried that at the
club?
GEORGE: Tried what at the club?
MRS PEARSON: Going up to the bar and telling ’em you don’t
want a glass of beer but you’re annoyed
because they haven’t already poured it out.
Try that on them and see what you get.
GEORGE: I don’t know what you’re talking about.
MRS PEARSON: They’d laugh at you even more than they
do now.
MMMootthheerr’’ss DDaayy 45 45
GEORGE: [indignantly] Laugh at me? They don’t laugh
at me.
MRS PEARSON: Of course they do. You ought to have found
that out by this time. Anybody else would
have done. You’re one of their standing
jokes. Famous. They call you Pompy-ompy
Pearson because they think you’re so slow
and pompous.
GEORGE: [horrified] Never!
MRS PEARSON: It’s always beaten me why you should want
to spend so much time at a place where
they’re always laughing at you behind your
back and calling you names. Leaving your
wife at home, night after night. Instead of
going out with her, who doesn’t make you
look a fool...
[Cyril enters right, with a glass of milk in one hand and a thick
slice of cake in the other. George, almost dazed, turns to him
appealingly.]
GEORGE: Here, Cyril, you’ve been with me to the club
once or twice. They don’t laugh at me and
call me Pompy-ompy Pearson, do they?
[Cyril, embarrassed, hesitates.] [Angrily] Go
on—tell me. Do they?
CYRIL: [embarrassed] Well—yes, Dad, I’m afraid
they do.
[George slowly looks from one to the other, staggered.]
GEORGE: [slowly] Well—I’ll be—damned!
[George exits left, slowly, almost as if somebody had hit him
over the head. Cyril, after watching him go, turns indignantly to
Mrs Pearson.]
CYRIL: Now you shouldn’t have told him that,
Mum. That’s not fair. You’ve hurt his
feelings. Mine, too.
MRS PEARSON: Sometimes it does people good to have their
feelings hurt. The truth oughtn’t to hurt
anybody for long. If your father didn’t go to
the club so often, perhaps they’d stop
laughing at him.
CYRIL: [gloomily] I doubt it.
46 Snapshots
MRS PEARSON: [severely] Possibly you do, but what I doubt
is whether your opinion’s worth having.
What do you know? Nothing. You spend too
much time and good money at greyhound
races and dirt tracks and ice shows...
CYRIL: [sulkily] Well, what if I do? I’ve got to enjoy
myself somehow, haven’t I?
MRS PEARSON: I wouldn’t mind so much if you were really
enjoying yourself. But are you? And where’s
it getting you? [There is a sharp hurried
knocking heard off left.]
CYRIL: Might be for me. I’ll see.
[Cyril hurries out left. In a moment he re-enters, closing the door
behind him.]
It’s that silly old bag from next door—Mrs
Fitzgerald. You don’t want her here, do you?
MRS PEARSON: [sharply] Certainly I do. Ask her in. And
don’t call her a silly old bag either. She’s a
very nice woman, with a lot more sense than
you’ll ever have.
[Cyril exits left. Mrs Pearson finishes her stout, smacking her lips.
Cyril re-enters left, ushering in Mrs Fitzgerald, who hesitates
in the doorway.]
Come in, come in, Mrs Fitzgerald.
MRS FITZGERALD: [moving to left centre; anxiously] I—just
wondered—if everything’s—all right...
CYRIL: [sulkily] No, it isn’t.
MRS PEARSON: [sharply] Of course it is. You be quiet.
CYRIL: [indignantly and loudly] Why should I be
quiet?
MRS PEARSON: [shouting] Because I tell you to—you silly,
spoilt, young piecan.
MRS FITZGERALD: [protesting nervously] Oh—no— surely...
MRS PEARSON: [severely] Now, Mrs Fitzgerald, just let me
manage my family in my own way—please!
MRS FITZGERALD: Yes—but Cyril...
CYRIL: [sulky and glowering] Mr Cyril Pearson to
you, please, Mrs Fitzgerald. [Cyril stalks off
into the kitchen.]
MMMootthheerr’’ss DDaayy 47 47
MRS FITZGERALD: [moving to the settee; whispering] Oh—
dear—what’s happening?
MRS PEARSON: [calmly] Nothing much. Just putting ‘em in
their places, that’s all. Doing what you ought
to have done long since.
MRS FITZGERALD: Is George home? [She sits beside Mrs
Pearson on the settee.]
MRS PEARSON: Yes. I’ve been telling him what they think of
him at the club.
MRS FITZGERALD: Well, they think a lot of him, don’t they?
MRS PEARSON: No, they don’t. And now he knows it.
MRS FITZGERALD: [nervously] Oh—dear—I wish you hadn’t,
Mrs Fitzgerald...
MRS PEARSON: Nonsense! Doing ’em all a world of good. And
they’ll be eating out of your hand soon—
you’ll see...
MRS FITZGERALD: I don’t think I want them eating out of my
hand...
MRS PEARSON: [impatiently] Well, whatever you want, they’ll
be doing it—all three of ’em. Mark my
words, Mrs Pearson.
[George enters left glumly. He is unpleasantly surprised when he
sees the visitor. He moves to the armchair left, sits down heavily
and glumly lights his pipe. Then he looks from Mrs Pearson to
Mrs Fitzgerald, who is regarding him anxiously.]
GEORGE: Just looked in for a minute, I suppose, Mrs
Fitzgerald?
MRS FITZGERALD: [who doesn’t know what she is saying]
Well—yes—I suppose so, George.
GEORGE: [aghast] George!
MRS FITZGERALD: [nervously] Oh—I’m sorry...
MRS PEARSON: [impatiently] What does it matter? Your
name’s George, isn’t it? Who d’you think you
are—Duke of Edinburgh?
GEORGE: [angrily] What’s he got to do with it? Just
tell me that. And isn’t it bad enough
without her calling me George? No tea.
Pompy-ompy Pearson. And poor Doris has
been crying her eyes out upstairs—yes,
crying her eyes out.
48 Snapshots
MRS FITZGERALD: [wailing] Oh—dear—I ought to have
known...
GEORGE: [staring at her, annoyed] You ought to have
known! Why ought you to have known?
Nothing to do with you, Mrs Fitzgerald.
Look—we’re at sixes and sevens here just
now—so perhaps you’ll excuse us...
MRS PEARSON: [before Mrs Fitzgerald can reply] I won’t
excuse you, George Pearson. Next time a
friend and neighbour comes to see me, just
say something when you see her—Good
evening or How d’you do? or something—
an’ don’t just march in an’ sit down without
a word. It’s bad manners...
MRS FITZGERALD: [nervously] No—it’s all right...
MRS PEARSON: No, it isn’t all right. We’ll have some decent
manners in this house—or I’ll know the
reason why. [glaring at George] Well?
GEORGE: [intimidated] Well, what!
MRS PEARSON: [taunting him] Why don’t you get off to your
club? Special night tonight, isn’t it? They’ll
be waiting for you—wanting to have a good
laugh. Go on then. Don’t disappoint ’em.
GEORGE: [bitterly] That’s right. Make me look silly in
front of her now! Go on—don’t mind me.
Sixes and sevens! Poor Doris been crying
her eyes out! Getting the neighbours in to
see the fun! [suddenly losing his temper,
glaring at Mrs Pearson, and shouting] All
right—let her hear it. What’s the matter
with you? Have you gone barmy—or what?
MRS PEARSON: [jumping up; savagely] If you shout at me
again like that, George Pearson, I’ll slap your
big, fat, silly face...
MRS FITZGERALD: [moaning] Oh—no—no—no—please, Mrs
Fitzgerald... [Mrs Pearson sits.]
GEORGE: [staring at her, bewildered] Either I’m off my
chump or you two are. How d’you mean—
“No, no—please, Mrs Fitzgerald”? Look—
you’re Mrs Fitzgerald. So why are you telling
yourself to stop when you’re not doing
MMMootthheerr’’ss DDaayy 4949
anything? Tell her to stop—then there’d be
some sense in it. [Staring at Mrs Pearson] I
think you must be tiddly.
MRS PEARSON: [starting up; savagely] Say that again,
George Pearson.
GEORGE: [intimidated] All right—all right—all right ...
[Doris enters left slowly, looking miserable. She is still wearing
the wrap. Mrs Pearson sits on the settee.]
MRS FITZGERALD: Hello—Doris dear!
DORIS: [miserably] Hello—Mrs Fitzgerald!
MRS FITZGERALD: I thought you were going out with Charlie
Spence tonight.
DORIS: [annoyed] What’s that to do with you?
MRS PEARSON: [sharply] Stop that!
MRS FITZGERALD: [nervously] No—its all right...
MRS PEARSON: [severely] It isn’t all right. I won’t have a
daughter of mine talking to anybody like
that. Now answer Mrs Fitzgerald properly,
Doris—or go upstairs again... [Doris looks
wonderingly at her father.]
GEORGE: [in despair] Don’t look at me. I give it up. I
just give it up.
MRS PEARSON: [fiercely] Well? Answer her.
DORIS: [sulkily] I was going out with Charlie Spence
tonight—but now I’ve called it off...
MRS FITZGERALD: Oh—what a pity, dear! Why have you?
DORIS: [with a flash of temper] Because—if you
must know—my mother’s been going on at
memaking me feel miserable—an’ saying
he’s got buck-teeth and is half-witted...
MRS FITZGERALD: [rather bolder; to Mrs Pearson] Oh—you
shouldn’t have said that...
MRS PEARSON: [sharply] Mrs Fitzgerald, I’ll manage my
family—you manage yours.
GEORGE: [grimly] Ticking her off now, are you, Annie?
MRS PEARSON: [even more grimly] They’re waiting for you
at the club, George, don’t forget. And don’t
you start crying again, Doris...
MRS FITZGERALD: [getting up; with sudden decision] That’s
enough—quite enough.
[George and Doris stare at her bewildered.]
50 Snapshots
[to George and Doris] Now listen, you two. I
want to have a private little talk with Mrs
Fitz—[she corrects herself hastily] with Mrs
Pearson, so I’ll be obliged if you’ll leave us
alone for a few minutes. I’ll let you know
when we’ve finished. Go on, please. I
promise you that you won’t regret it. There’s
something here that only I can deal with.
GEORGE: [rising] I’m glad somebody can—’cos I can’t.
Come on, Doris.
[George and Doris exit left. As they go Mrs Fitzgerald moves to left
of the small table and sits. She eagerly beckons Mrs Pearson to
do the same thing.]
MRS FITZGERALD: Mrs Fitzgerald, we must change back now—
we really must...
MRS PEARSON: [rising] Why?
MRS FITZGERALD: Because this has gone far enough. I can see
they’re all miserable—and I can’t bear it...
MRS PEARSON: A bit more of the same would do ‘em good.
Making a great difference already... [She
moves to right of the table and sits.]
MRS FITZGERALD: No, I can’t stand any more of it—I really
can’t. We must change back. Hurry up,
please, Mrs Fitzgerald.
MRS PEARSON: Well—if you insist...
MRS FITZGERALD: Yes—I do—please—please.
[She stretches her hands across the table eagerly. Mrs Pearson
takes them.]
MRS PEARSON: Quiet now. Relax.
[Mrs Pearson and Mrs Fitzgerald stare at each other. Muttering;
exactly as before. Arshtatta dum—arshtatta lam—arshtatta
lamdumbona...
They carry out the same action as before, going lax and then
coming to life. But this time, of course, they become their proper
personalities.]
MRS FITZGERALD: Ah well—I enjoyed that.
MRS PEARSON: I didn’t.
MRS FITZGERALD: Well, you ought to have done. Now—listen,
MMMootthheerr’’ss DDaayy 51 51
Mrs Pearson. Don’t go soft on ’em again,
else it’ll all have been wasted...
MRS PEARSON: I’ll try not to, Mrs Fitzgerald.
MRS FITZGERALD: They’ve not had as long as I’d like to have
given ’em—another hour or two’s rough
treatment might have made it certain...
MRS PEARSON: I’m sure they’ll do better now—though I
don’t know how I’m going to explain...
MRS FITZGERALD: [severely] Don’t you start any explaining or
apologising—or you’re done for.
MRS PEARSON: [with spirit] It’s all right for you, Mrs
Fitzgerald. After all, they aren’t your
husband and children...
MRS FITZGERALD: [impressively] Now you listen to me. You
admitted yourself you were spoiling ’em—
and they didn’t appreciate you. Any
apologies—any explanations—an’ you’ll be
straight back where you were. I’m warning
you, dear. Just give ’em a look—a tone of
voice—now an’ again, to suggest you might
be tough with ’em if you wanted to be—an’
it ought to work. Anyhow, we can test it.
MRS PEARSON: How?
MRS FITZGERALD: Well, what is it you’d like ’em to do that they
don’t do? Stop at home for once?
MRS PEARSON: Yes—and give me a hand with supper...
MRS FITZGERALD: Anything you’d like ’em to do—that you
enjoy whether they do or not?
MRS PEARSON: [hesitating] Well—yes. I—like a nice game
of rummy—but, of course, I hardly ever
have one—except at Christmas...
MRS FITZGERALD: [getting up] That’ll do then. [She moves
towards the door left then turns] But
remember—keep firm—or you’ve had it.
[She opens the door. Calling] Hoy! You can
come in now. [Coming away from the door,
and moving right slightly. Quietly] But
remember—remember—a firm hand.
[George, Doris and Cyril file in through the doorway, looking
apprehensively at Mrs Pearson.]
I’m just off. To let you enjoy yourself.
52 Snapshots
[The family looks anxiously at Mrs Pearson, who smiles. Much
relieved, they smile back at her.]
DORIS: [anxiously] Yes, Mother?
MRS PEARSON: [smiling] Seeing that you don’t want to go
out, I tell you what I thought we’d do.
MRS FITZGERALD: [giving a final warning] Remember!
MRS PEARSON: [nodding, then looking sharply at the family]
No objections, I hope?
GEORGE: [humbly] No, Mother—whatever you say...
MRS PEARSON: [smiling] I thought we’d have a nice family
game of rummy—and then you children
could get the supper ready while I have a
talk with your father...
GEORGE: [firmly] Suits me. [He looks challengingly at
the children.] What about you two?
CYRIL: [hastily] Yes—that’s all right.
DORIS: [hesitating] Well—I...
MRS PEARSON: [sharply] What? Speak up!
DORIS: [hastily] Oh—I think it would be lovely...
MRS PEARSON: [smiling] Good-bye, Mrs Fitzgerald. Come
again soon.
MRS FITZGERALD: Yes, dear. ’Night all—have a nice time.
[Mrs Fitzgerald exits left and the family cluster round Mother as—
the curtain falls.
1. This play, written in the 1950s, is a humorous and
satirical depiction of the status of the mother in the
family.
(i) What are the issues it raises?
(ii) Do you think it caricatures these issues or do
you think that the problems it raises are
genuine? How does the play resolve the issues?
Do you agree with the resolution?
2. If you were to write about these issues today what
are some of the incidents, examples and problems
that you would think of as relevant?
MMMootthheerr’’ss DDaayy 53 53
3. Is drama a good medium for conveying a social
message? Discuss.
4. Read the play out in parts. Enact the play on a
suitable occasion.
5. Discuss in groups plays or films with a strong
message of social reform that you have watched.