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 paganism 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.

Mrs. L.  ‘Tes a brave pleasure, is lovin’.  I likes to zee et in young folk.  I likes to zee ’em kissin’; shows the ’eart in ’em.  ’Tes the ’eart makes the world go round; ‘tesn’t nothin’ else, in my opinion.

Press. [Writing] “—­sings the swan song of the heart.”——­

Mrs. L. [Overhearing] No, I never yeard a swan sing—­never!  But I tell ’ee what I ’eve ‘eard; the Bells singin’ in th’ orchard ‘angin’ up the clothes to dry, an’ the cuckoos callin’ back to ’em. [Smiling] There’s a-many songs in the country-the ’eart is freelike in th’ country!

Lemmy. [Soto voce] Gi’ me the Strand at ar’ past nine.

Press. [Writing] “Town and country——­”

Mrs. L.  ’Tidn’t like that in London; one day’s jest like another. 
Not but what therr’s a ‘eap o’ kind’eartedness ’ere.

Lemmy. [Gloomily] Kind-’eartedness!  I daon’t fink “Boys an’ Gells come out to play.”