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The Zealous Zombies.

Act. 1.

(The curtain rises amid stormy Wagnerian music, upon a stage in complete darkness. Thunder is heard. A spot travels around the stage, first resting on a large notice hung on the rear curtain reading 'The Graveyard of Reaction'. It then passes to two large tombstones set downstage centre. On one is written: 'Sidi Ben Olland, R.I.P.E!. On the other is written 'Jonnalio, R.I.P.E.R.'. A semi-circle of gravestones of a similer type is ranged behind the two front ones. More tunder; alarms and excursions. Then, above the storm, the strains of the German Horst Wessell song are heard. There is a flash of lightning, and the figure of Herr Scuttler appears, his arm upraised in the Nazi salute, standing on a rostrum up centre. The music softens.)

Scuttler:

Heil Scuttler!

(He dismounts from the rostrum and comes down stage to the footlights, a la Charlie Chaplin in "The Dictator", the spot following him).

Scuttler:

(To the audience) Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. In case some of you may be wondering 'Now where have I seen that face before?, will you pardon me for introducing myself to you? I am Her Adolf Scuttler, from Up-thegarden, a housepainter of some repute. Very pleased to meet you, I'm sure. I have just landed by parachute from my private Messerspit in your beautiful country of Way Down Undah, which I understand is called by you 'God's Own Country'. Now since, as you are aware, I am, God, I think it is about time I asserted my title to this jewel in the Southern Seas. Unfortunately, experience has shown me that certain ignorant Jewish Marxists amougst you are likely to dispute my just claim, and therefore I am making certain arrangements beforehand within the countries which I intend to liberate from the bonds of Jewish imperialist plutocracy. In this graveyard, you have buried a number of people who will be of the very greatest use to me when I finally come to claim my rightful h heritage. Let me explain myself more fully. Those of you who are connoisseurs of the Horror Film, immortalised by those great Aryans Karloff and Lugosi, will know that the dead may be raised in the form of Zombies, provided the correct magical formulae are used. There Zombies are mindless creatures who obey blindly, and unconsciously the will of the person who raises them from the dead. The formula, ladies and gentlemen, is a simple one. All that you need is a little bullswool (Her Scuttler produces some), a great deal of boloney (he produces a large sausage), and a little soothing syrup poured over it.

(Herr Scuttler puts the ingredients on the ground and pours some syrup from a bottle on top of them)

Then you need only recite the magic words 'Freedom, discipline, and private enterprise', apply a match to the ingredients, and the thing is done. I trust, ladies and gentlemen, that you will find the results interesting. Heil Scuttler!

(Herr Scuttler salutes, and lights the ingredients. There is a flash of flame. A blackout follows, and the thunder and storm music grow very loud. Then a spot shoots out on to the two front gravestones. The slabs are seen to lift, and Sidi Ben Olland and Jonnalio crawl from their respective tombs. A Zombie crawls from each of the other tombs at the rear, and they crowd to the front of the stage, with Sidi and Jonnalio in the front. All are dressed in cerements, and have vacant and expressionless countenances.) Suddenly the storm music and thunder ceases, and the orchestra strikes up 'Don't Get Around Much Any More'.)

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Chorus of Zombies.

Do you know who we are?
We have been here before;
We're political Zombies -
Don't get around much any more.

Jonnalio

I'm the scourge of the slums;
I'm the Child of the Poor;

All

We're political Zombies -
Don't get around much any more.

Sidi

Since that terrible day
When you showed us the door -

All

We're political Zombies -
Don't get around much any more.

Our plans were upset,
In tombs we were cast,
But we won't forget,
The lessons of the past.

We've been buried for years,
Which is rather a bore;
We're political Zombies -
Don't get around much any more.

(The Zombies execute a wierd dance, weaving in and out of the gravestones in the manner of Zombies, half under the leadership of Sidi Ben Olland and half following Jonnalio.)

Sidi Ben Olland (Salaaming)

May mighty A llah bless and save
The hand which raised uf from the grave!

Jonnalio (Looking at Sisi)

But do I see - my God, I do'.
Sidi Ben Olland and his crew?

Sidi Ben Olland

And do I see - it is - it ain't -
Jonnalio? How very quaint

Jonnalio (Passionately)

Oh, let me shake the dauntless hand,
Oh Sidi, leader of the band
Which dared to fight that tribe of robbers -
Mr. Razor and his cobbers!

(The two leaders shake hands. The Zombies also shake hands with one and another.

Sidi Ben Olland (Passionately)

Oh, let me kiss the rosy cheeks,
Of him who thunders when he speaks!
Whose voice, so rabid, rude and raucous
Upset the Labour Party caucus!

(He kisses Jonnalio on both checks. The Zombies follow suit).

Jonnalio

Oh, loudly let the bagpipes ring!
Oh, blow the drum like anything! (The orchestra does so)
To celebrate the resurrection
of you - and me - and this collection.
(indicating the Zombies.)

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page 3 Sidi Ben Olland.

But let me introduce to you
the leading members of my crew. (The
Zombies named come forward and shake
hands with Jonnalio)
The Bulgie Zombie - late 'professor'
The party's legal window-dresser,
and here's the Artful Doidger, who's
Renowned for his enlightened views.
But - where's the great Bare Bodkin - he
Who is so near and dear to me?

Voice of the Bare Bodkin

(From one of the grave s)

Oh mighty Sidi - it's too cold
For me to rise up from the mould!

Sidi Ben Olland

Arise, ba e Bodkin, face the weather!
We Zombies have to stand together.

The Bare Bodkin arises from a tomb, clad in a beaming smile and a pair of V's. He looks very cold.)

Sidi Ben Olland.

Behold the great Bare Bodkin - he
Is wearing V' s for Victory!

The orchestra plays a patriotic song. Jonnalio begins divesting himself of his grave-clothes.)

Jonnalio.

My friends, I hold that merriment's
Impossible in cerements.
How can we Zombies rant and rave
In ghastly garments of the grave?

(Jonnalio and the other Zombies fling off their cerements, and stand revealed in their normal wearing apparel.)

Sidi Ben Olland

But hark! But hist! But hold! Who comes?
who is this slinker from the slums
Who limps along with halting gait,
Whose portly paunch and polished pate
Proclaim him as the worst of crooks?

Jonnalio (looking off)

How like a publican he looks!

(Enter the Chruch Gravedigger. He is a large fat bald individual, obviously the worse for wear. He is attired in a top hat and morning coat, and wears a large gold watch chain across his stomach. Over his should is slung a tiny bag, under which he is staggering as if it contained something very heavy. He carries a shovel in his right hand. In the other hand he carries a bundle of black Deadly Nightshade)

Gravedigger

Well, here I gun again (Seeing the Zombies)
My God!
You're all alive! How very odd!
Alive! You wouldn't give it credence!

Sidi Ben Olland.

But tell us, Sir, your antecedents.

Gravedigger.

(Piteously)
Sidi Ben Olland, can it be
That you do not remember me?
I used to be a mighty chief,
But now I've changed beyond belief.
I used to rule with iron hand
In Waydown Unda' s pleasant land;
I owned the farms and factories
and floa ted hosts of companies.
I lived in peace - till Mr. Hash

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Substantially reduced my cash!
Observe - my indignation waxes -
This crushing load of war-time taxes!

(Jonnalio lifts the bundle from the Gravedigger's back, and holds it up with his little finger.)

Jonnalio.

Oh what a weight you [unclear: bear]! Ah, woe!
My salty tear begin to flow! (Ho weeps)

Sidi Ben Olland.

But stay! But stop! I'll [unclear: hear] no more!
Your tale has touched me to the core! (He weeps)

Gravedigger

And now, to supplement my screw,
A dirty menial job I do;
I am the Church Gravedigger who
A ttends the tombs of such as you,
And, staggering 'neath this awful weight,
Your sacred graves I decorate
With pretty flowers of the right shade -
The freshest fronds of Deadly Nightshade!

Sidi Ben Olland.

Oh, what a sordid scene you paint!
Support me, Zombies, for I faint! (He does so)

Gravedigger.

Even here, amoung the dead,
You can't escape the raging Red.
The village verger and the parson
Are coming up for trial for arson;

Even the gentle-minded usher
Has secret sympathies with Russia!
In short, my friends, alas! alack!
the country's going to the pack!

Jonnalio.

Alas for everything we cherish!
Support me, Zombies for I perish! (He faints)

Song - The Gravedigger.

I ruled this land
With an iron hand
Before the Morioris;
I built the banks
and guns and tanks
To bolster up the Tories!
In the good old days
They used to praise
The way I fleeced my neighbour
But now my gold
Is all controlled
By the rude red ranks of Labour.

In short, these lousy Labourites,
They spoil my days and trouble my nights;
They tax me here and they tax me there,
and I only make ten thousand a year!

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Chorus.
In short, these lousy Labourites,
They spoil his days and trouble his nights;
They tax him here and they tax him there,
and he only makes ten thousand a year!

Before I spend
A dividend
From my gilt-edged ten percenters,
I fill in swarms
of length forms
For these uncouth tormentors.
My workers strike
whenever they like,
And every one's a blackguard;
The dirty rats
Won't raise their hats
When I pass them in my Packard!

In short these lousy Labourites
They spoil my days and trouble my nights,
They tax me here and they tax me there,
And I only make ten thousand a year!

Chorus.
In short, these lousy Labourites, etc.

They tax my yacht,
And every spot
Is taxed before I quaff it;
And if I make
A lucky break
They tax my surplus profit!
If you decide
On suicide,
Even then their hearts won't soften,
They tax the gun,
And when you're done,
They tax the bloody coffin!

In short, these lousy Labourites,
They spoil my days and trouble my nights;
They tax me here and they tax me there,
And I only make ten thousand a year!

Chorus.
In short, these lousy Labourites, etc.

(The Gravedigger collapses on a tombstone, weeping bitterly. The Zombies endeavour to comfort him. Suddenly Sidi Ben O Olland arises.)

Sidi Ben Olland.

Oh gentle Zombies, dry your tears,
And lend me your gigantic ears! (The Zombies sit up).

Should we retreat before the foe
And leave our land to languish?

Zombies.

(Fortissimo) No!

Sidi Ben Olland

Should we return and tell the press
To slander our opponents?

Zombies.

(Fortissimo) Yes!

Jonnalio

Are we scared of Razor's blah?
Are we afraid of them?

Zombies.

(Pia nissimo)

page 6 Sidi Ben Olland.

Come, lot's away to Weydown Undah
And split their serried ranks asunder!

Jonnalio

But stay - I think we're in a spot!
No petrol coupons have we got,
and Waydown Undah's miles away -

Gravedigger

Fear not! You'll all be there today!
I can provide two trusty steeds,
The best that Waydown Unda h breeds.

Sidi Ben Olland.

Oh lead me to this blessed nag!

Jonnalio

A horse! A horse! It's in the bag!

(There is heard the sound of horses galloping, coming nearer and nearer. As they approach, they suddenly stop, skidding. The orchestra strikes up 'The Old Grey Mare')

Chorus - Zombies and Caste

Gravedigger

Here they come - it's Aplop and Hisleton,

Jonnalio

Aplop and Hisleton?

Gravedigger

Aplop and Hisleton?

Here they come, - it's Aplop and Hisleton The City' s Old grey mares!

(Marching sedately to the music, Aplop and Hisleton. Two mares, enter. One wears glasses, and the other has a white flowing mane. They bear their names in black on their sides. They bow gravely to the Zombies and to the audience, and then sing.)

Aplop and Hisleton

Who so brave as Aplop and Hisleton,
Aplop and Hisleton,
Aplop and Hisleton,
Who so brave as Aplop and Hisleton
In leading the City's affairs?

(The horses do a delightful little dance).

Chorus.
These sanctimonious hacks,
They scratch each others' backs -
Here they are, it's Aplop and Hisleton,
Aplop and Hisleton,
Aplop and Hisleton,
Here they are - it's plop and Hisleton,
The City's old grey mares.

Jonnalio

Come, board the shir! Come, mount the horse!

Aplop & Hisleton

(Very dignified)

Pray do not mix your metaphors!
Restrain your fury while you ride -
We must preserve our civic pride.

Sidi Ben Olland.

Away! A glorious day is dawning!

Gravedigger.

Before you go, an awful warning!
The Citizens, of you bereft,
Have been deluded by the Left
To gain my ends, I must insist
You all pretend you're Socialist!

page 7 Sidi Ben Olland.

Ah, never! Would that I were dead!
Oh, must I say I am a Red?

Gravedigger

It won't be hard. Jonnalio's
A bosom friend of Uncle Joe's.

Jonnalio (Sadly)

That is what I tell my minions.
I've never asked for Joe's opinions.

Sidi Ben Olland.

Well, if it's vital, then I think
I could pretend I'm slightly pink,
Inserting in the Acts we pass
Some reference to the working class.

Trio and Chorus.

Jonnalio, Sidi, Gravedigger, and Zombies.

(Air - 'It's Clear that Mediaval Art' - 'Patience')

Trio.

Our lives are dedicated to the suffering working class.
We'll try to please our devotees with every Act
we pass. We'll stay up [unclear: late] and legislate,
and will not mind a bit -
For the bar is always open, and we'll make good use of it.

Chorus.
We shall emancipate
The humble from the great,
Exalt the meek
And halt and weak
And banish fear and hate. If you're prepared to wait
We'll let you rule the State,
But nasty men,
Who ask us when.
We shall eliminate!

(The Zombies perform a short, jerky ballet, led by the trio.)

Trio.

The Socialists don't comprehend the kindness of our hearts,
We always like to stop a strike before it really starts.
We get the urge to have a purge in periods of stress,
And Arbitration settlements incontinently bless.

Chorus.
To keep inviolate
The democratic state,
The awkward guys
Who criticise
We shall incarcerate.
If you're prepared to wait,
We'll let you rule the State,
But nasty men
Who ask us when
Make us expectorate.

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(Sidi Ben Olland mounts Aplop, and Jonnalio mounts Hisleton, and they march off, followed by the Zombies, marching in Zombie fashion in time to the music. The Gravedigger stands centre, rubbing his hands and laughing. The chorus is repeated as they march off.)

Chorus.
To keep inviolate
The Democratic state,
The awkward guys
Who criticise
We shall incarcerate.
If you're prepared to writ,
We'll let you rule the state,
But nasty men
Who ask us when
Make us expectorate!

Curtain.

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