French - That Summer

CONTENTS For Gareth, in his thirteenth year That Summer opened the 25th Anniversary Blyth Festival season in Blyth, Ontario, on June 25, 1999, with the following cast: MRS. CRUMP : Diana Belshaw PAUL : Eric Davis NARRATOR : Michelle Fisk DAISY : Samantha Reynolds CAITLIN : Erin Roulston MARGARET : Adrienne Wilson JACK : Larry Yachimec Directed by Bill Glassco Set and Costume Design by Shawn Kerwin Lighting Design by Renee Brode Sound Design by Evan Turner O world! O life! O time! SHELLEY CHARACTERS MARGARET RYAN , narrator, 49 CAITLIN , her granddaughter, 13 MARGARET RYAN , 17 DAISY RYAN , 16 JACK RYAN , 43 MRS . CRUMP , 57 PAUL WYATT , 19 SETTING The action takes place at Willow Beach, a summer resort on Wolf Lake in southern Ontario. Time present is 1990. Time past is 1958. PRODUCTION NOTES The production of the play should be poetic or lyrical.

Accordingly, walls are not required. The cottage can be represented simply by a table and chairs. Other locations can be established the same way, or simply through light and sound. The staging should be fluid, filmic, at moments even dream-like. As the NARRATOR recalls the summer of 1958, she wanders around the periphery of the action, watching the events unfold, reacting to her former self and the other characters. ACT ONE Darkness.

Music: A distant choir sings the hymn Blessed Assurance. Lights slowly come up on the corner of an old country churchyard. A few headstones. A white birch A woman kneels before a grave. This is MARGARET RYAN , who from now on will be referred to as the NARRATOR . It is Saturday, May 26, 1990.

The NARRATOR reacts to the hymn. Then smiles at the audience. NARRATOR Listen. Choir practice The Reverend Raymond Scott used to be the minister here at the Willow Beach Baptist Church. My sister Daisy and his son Tim took a shine to each other in the summer of 1958. The cottage we rented that year is just down there by the lake.

Our neighbour was Mrs. Crump. This is her grave. Its been thirty-two years since I was last here on Wolf Lake, though Ive often returned in dreams. In truth, I wouldnt have come here this Memorial Day weekend except for my granddaughter Caitlin. Shes heard me mention this place so often that she insisted I bring her.

CAITLIN ( off ) Gran! NARRATOR Thats her now. Shes thirteen. CAITLIN enters, carrying a freshly picked bunch of wildflowers. CAITLIN I like it here, Gran. Its so peaceful, isnt it? Know what it reminds me of? The Congregational Church cemetery back home. NARRATOR I suppose it does For me, though, its always been unique.

Dont tell anyone, but I lost my virginity one night in this graveyard. Right under that white birch. CAITLIN You never mentioned that before, Gran. NARRATOR Its not something a lot of seventeen-year-olds did in those days, either. Girls or boys He seemed much older, of course, your grandfather. All of nineteen.

CAITLIN Did you love him, Gran? NARRATOR Paul? Very much Here, let me take those. CAITLIN I just picked them. NARRATOR On second thought, I cant put white lilacs on her grave. Mrs. Crump considered all white flowers unlucky CAITLIN ( reads the epitaph ) Kathleen Crump Born March eleventh, 1901 Died August second, 1958 NARRATOR ( to the audience ) She drowned the summer we were here. She was fifty-seven years of age, which doesnt seem that old to me now, although it certainly did at the time.

CAITLIN Kathleens such a lovely name, isnt it, Gran? Kathleen with a K . NARRATOR Yes, it is. Caitlin, of course, is the Gaelic form of it. CAITLIN I know. Im named after her. NARRATOR Come to think of it, I didnt learn her given name till after she died.

She was always Mrs. Crump to Daisy and me. No one called her Kathleen, not even my dad. In the distance comes the muffled roll of thunder. Lights change, and a slight wind rustles the white birch. NARRATOR ( to CAITLIN ) Could be a storm brewing Why dont you wait in the car, Caitlin? I wont be long.

CAITLIN Id sooner poke around, Gran. NARRATOR Suit yourself. I saw some touch-me-nots in the woods over there. And starflowers. There used to be a sundial out on the point. CAITLIN A sundial? Really? NARRATOR No one knows who put it there.

The woods have probably claimed it by now. CAITLIN Ill find it. Thanks, Gran. She exits. NARRATOR Back in the 1950s, my dad was the guidance counsellor at our local high school. We lived in Vermont, in a small town called Jericho, our clapboard house not far from the Congregational Church.

When my mom was alive, our family spent the summers on Cape Cod. But after she died, and Dad married Sally, wed drive to Old Orchard Beach in Maine. However, 1958 was different. That spring, Sally began an affair with our life insurance salesman. And when Dad found out, he reacted as only Dad could. He sat down and wrote Mr.

Rush an angry letter, cancelling our policy. Then he rented the cottage up here on Wolf Lake in southern Ontario. His plan, I suppose, was to separate the moonstruck lovers. Maybe bring Sally back to her senses. It didnt. For two weeks, Sally pouted and sulked or went for long walks.

At every meal her empty chair sat there like a rebuke. And at every meal my sister Daisy would mention it Lights rise on the cottage JACK , MARGARET , and DAISY are seated at the table, the room washed in the gold-red light of late afternoon. Even at seventeen, MARGARET has a watchful quality about her. She is flat-chested, and self-conscious, and clearly not as sociable as DAISY . DAISY Dad. JACK What? DAISY Dad, the tension here is killing me.

I think Im getting a bleeding ulcer. And dont laugh. JACK Im not laughing, Daisy. Did you hear me laugh, Margaret? MARGARET says nothing. DAISY Dad, I think you need your eyes examined. In case you havent noticed, Sallys not at the table.

This time, Dad, shes locked herself in the bathroom. I think shes reading Do ctor Zhivago . JACK She has a splitting headache. DAISY Splitting headache? Dad, shes had a splitting headache for two weeks. Either shes lying through her teeth or she has a brain tumour. JACK Keep your voice down, will you? He pours himself a bourbon.

DAISY One thing I know, Dad. Maggie and I couldnt refuse to come to the table, could we? ( then ) Could we, Dad? JACK Sallys a grown woman. If she wants time alone, thats her business Want some advice? Ignore her. DAISY Ignore her? Oh sure. Thats like ignoring a hangnail. MARGARET Lets face it, Dad.

Sally didnt want to come here in the first place. Thats why shes acting this way Why not admit you made a mistake and send her home? JACK says nothing. DAISY Dad? JACK I cant do that, Margaret. MARGARET Why not? JACK I just cant. MARGARET Dad, I cant believe the hold she has on you. Is it because she looks so much like Mom? Is it? JACK For Gods sake, Margaret, you want Sally to hear you say that? He belts back the bourbon.

NARRATOR I noticed Dad was beginning to drink a lot. He hardly drank at all when Mom was alive. MARGARET All right. But dont let her ruin it for the rest of us, okay? I agree with Daisy. I dont want to spend every meal like a Trappist monk. DAISY She means in silence, Dad.

JACK I know what she means, Daisy. MARGARET Dad, its summer. Daisy and I are young. I dont see why we have to tiptoe around like someones dying in the next room. DAISY Like Garbo in Camille . JACK ( slams his glass on the table ) No wonder I drink! Lights fade on the cottage.

NARRATOR In the third week of July, it rained two days straight, and Sally became even more withdrawn, almost catatonic. And then the miracle happened. The morning the sun came out, Sally appeared for the first time in days. And somehow we knew, before being told, that Dad had agreed to send her home As it turned out, hed decided to drive her there himself. All the way back to Jericho Music: Blueberry Hill by Fats Domino. Lights come up on the front porch MARGARET , in a skirt and blouse, sits on the porch, writing in a blue hardback book.