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    The Daughter-In-Law: "Money is our madness, our vast collective madness."
    The Daughter-In-Law: "Money is our madness, our vast collective madness."
    The Daughter-In-Law: "Money is our madness, our vast collective madness."
    Ebook91 pages1 hour

    The Daughter-In-Law: "Money is our madness, our vast collective madness."

    By D. H. Lawrence

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    About this ebook

    For many of us DH Lawrence was a schoolboy hero. Who can forget sniggering in class at the mention of Women In Love or Lady Chatterley’s Lover? Lawrence was a talented if nomadic writer whose novels were passionately received, suppressed at times and generally at odds with Establishment values. This of course did not deter him. At his death in 1930 at the young age of 44 he was more often thought of as a pornographer but in the ensuing years he has come to be more rightly regarded as one of the most imaginative writers these shores have produced. As well as his novels and of course his poetry - he wrote in excess of 800 of them he was also a very talented playwright. These works have not been given quite the attention they deserve. Here we publish 'The Daughter-In-Law'.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherCopyright Group
    Release dateNov 19, 2013
    ISBN9781783946310
    The Daughter-In-Law: "Money is our madness, our vast collective madness."
    Author

    D. H. Lawrence

    David Herbert Lawrence was born on 11th September 1881 in Eastwood, a small mining village in Nottinghamshire, in the English Midlands. Despite ill health as a child and a comparatively disadvantageous position in society, he became a teacher in 1908, and took up a post in a school in Croydon, south of London. His first novel, The White Peacock, was published in 1911, and from then until his death he wrote feverishly, producing poetry, novels, essays, plays travel books and short stories, while travelling around the world, settling for periods in Italy, New Mexico and Mexico. He married Frieda Weekley in 1914 and died of tuberculosis in 1930.

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      Book preview

      The Daughter-In-Law - D. H. Lawrence

      The Daughter-In-Law by D.H. Lawrence

      A PLAY IN FOUR ACTS

      For many of us DH Lawrence was a schoolboy hero. Who can forget sniggering in class at the mention of Women In Love or Lady Chatterley’s Lover?   Lawrence was a talented if nomadic writer whose novels were passionately received, suppressed at times and generally at odds with Establishment values.  This of course did not deter him.   At his death in 1930 at the young age of 44 he was more often thought of as a pornographer but in the ensuing years he has come to be more rightly regarded as one of the most imaginative writers these shores have produced.  As well as his novels he was also a masterful poet and wrote over 800 of them.  Here we publish his plays. Once again Lawrence shows his hand as a brilliant writer. Delving into situations and peeling them back to reveal the inner heart.

      Index Of Contents

      Characters

      Act I

      Act II

      Act III

      Act IV

      Anthony Trollope – A Short Biography

      Anthony Trollope – A Concise Bibliography

      CHARACTERS

      MRS GASCOIGNE

      LUTHER

      JOE

      MRS PURDY

      MINNIE

      The action of the play takes place in the kitchen of Luther Gascoigne's new home.

      ACT I

      SCENE I

      A collier's kitchen, not poor. Windsor chairs, deal table, dresser of painted wood, sofa covered with red cotton stuff. Time: About half-past two of a winter's afternoon.

      A large, stoutish woman of sixty-five, with smooth black hair parted down the middle of her head: MRS GASCOIGNE.

      Enter a young man, about twenty-six, dark, good-looking; has his right arm in a sling; does not take off cap: JOE GASCOIGNE.

      MRS GASCOIGNE: Well, I s'd ha' thought thy belly 'ud a browt thee whoam afore this.

      JOE sits on sofa without answering.

      Doesn't ter want no dinner?

      JOE (looking up): I want it if the' is ony.

      MRS GASCOIGNE: An' if the' isna, tha can go be out? Tha talks large, my fine jockey! (She puts a newspaper on the table; on it a plate and his dinner.) Wheer dost reckon ter's bin?

      JOE: I've bin ter th' office for my munny.

      MRS GASCOIGNE: Tha's niver bin a' this while at th' office.

      JOE: They kep' me ower an hour, an' then gen me nowt.

      MRS GASCOIGNE: Gen thee nowt! Why, how do they ma'e that out? It's a wik sin' tha got hurt, an' if a man wi' a broken arm canna ha' his fourteen shillin' a week accident pay, who can, I s'd like to know?

      JOE: They'll gie me nowt, whether or not.

      MRS GASCOIGNE: An' for why, prithee?

      JOE (does not answer for some time; then, sullenly): They reckon I niver got it while I wor at work.

      MRS GASCOIGNE: Then where did ter get it, might I ax? I'd think they'd like to lay it onto me.

      JOE: Tha talks like a fool, Mother.

      MRS GASCOIGNE: Tha looks like one, me lad.

      She has given him his dinner; he begins to eat with a fork.

      Here, hutch up, gammy-leg, gammy-arm.

      He makes room; she sits by him on the sofa and cuts up his meat for him.

      It's a rum un as I should start ha'in' babies again, an' feedin' 'em wi' spoon-meat. (Gives him a spoon.) An' now let's hear why they winna gi'e thee thy pay. Another o' Macintyre's dirty knivey dodges, I s'd think.

      JOE: They reckon I did it wi' foolery, an' not wi' work.

      MRS GASCOIGNE: Oh indeed! An' what by that?

      JOE (eating): They wunna gie me nowt, that's a'.

      MRS GASCOIGNE: It's a nice thing! An' what did ter say?

      JOE: I said nowt.

      MRS GASCOIGNE: Tha wouldna'! Tha stood like a stuffed duck, an' said thank-yer.

      JOE: Well, it wor raight.

      MRS GASCOIGNE: How raight?

      JOE: I did do it wi' foolery.

      MRS GASCOIGNE: Then what did ter go axin' fer pay fer?

      JOE: I did it at work, didna I? An' a man as gets accident at work's titled ter disability pay, isna he?

      MRS GASCOIGNE: Tha said a minnit sin' as tha got it wi' foolery.

      JOE: An' so I did.

      MRS GASCOIGNE: I niver 'eered such talk i' my life.

      JOE: I dunna care what ter's 'eered an' what t'asna. I wor foolin' wi' a wringer an' a pick-heft, ta's it as ter's a mind.

      MRS GASCOIGNE: What, down pit?

      JOE: I' th' stall, at snap time.

      MRS GASCOIGNE: Showin' off a bit, like?

      JOE: Ye'.

      MRS GASCOIGNE: An' what then?

      JOE: Th' wringer gen me a rap ower th'arm, an' that's a'.

      MRS GASCOIGNE: An' tha reported it as a accident?

      JOE: It wor accident, worn't it? I niver did it a'purpose.

      MRS GASCOIGNE: But a pit accident.

      JOE: Well, an' what else wor't? It wor a h'accident I got i' th' pit, i' th' sta' wheer I wor workin'.

      MRS GASCOIGNE: But not while tha wor workin'.

      JOE: What by that? it wor a pit accident as I got i' th' stall.

      MRS GASCOIGNE: But tha didna tell 'em how it happened.

      JOE: I said some stuff fell on my arm, an' brok' it. An' worna that trew?

      MRS GASCOIGNE: It wor very likely trew enough, lad, if on'y they'd ha' believed it.

      JOE: An they would ha' believed it, but for Hewett bully-raggin' Bettesworth 'cos he knowed he was a chappil man. (He imitates the underground manager, Hewett, and Bettesworth, a butty.) About this accident, Bettesworth. How exactly did it occur? I couldn't exactly say for certing, sir, because I wasn't linkin'. Then tell me as near as you can. Well, Mester, I'm sure I don't know. That's curious, Bettesworth, I must have a report. Do you know anything about it, or don't you? It happened in your stall; you're responsible for it, and I'm responsible for you. Well, Gaffer, what's right's right, I suppose, ter th' mesters or th' men. An' 'e wor conjurin' a' snap-time wi' a pick-heft an' a wringer, an' the wringer catched 'im ower th' arm. I thought you didn't know! I said for certain, I didn't see exactly how 'twas done.

      MRS GASCOIGNE: Hm.

      JOE: Bettesworth 'ud non ha' clat-fasted but for nosy Hewett. He says, Yo know, Joseph, when he says to me, 'Do you know anything about that haccident?' then I says to myself, 'Take not the word of truth hutterly outer thy mouth.'

      MRS GASCOIGNE: If he took a bit o' slaver outen's mouth, it 'ud do.

      JOE: So this mornin' when I went ter th' office, Mester Salmon he com out an' said: 'Ow did this haccident occur, Joseph? and I said, Some stuff fell on't. So he says, Stuff fell on't, stuff fell on't! You mean coal or rock or what? So I says, Well, it worn't a thipenny bit. No, he says, "but what was

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