Introduction
In The D'Oyly Cart
Prehistoric Complaint
The Album
There's A Hole In My Budget
Seven Ages Of Woman
Fragments
Pillar To Post
Guide To Britten
Excelsior
Rain On The Plage
Last Of The Line
Rockall
The Lord Chamberlain's Regulations

Seven Ages of Women

MF: In April 1953 Laurier Lister re-opened the Royal Court Theatre in Sloane Square with the revue 'Airs on a shoestring'. It had a wonderful cast led by Max Adrian, Moira Fraser, Betty Marsden, Sally Rogers, Pat Lancaster, and a couple of young men who've done rather well for themselves, Dennis Quilly and Peter Eaves. For 'Airs on a Shoestring', Laurier Lister asked us to provide something for each of the ladies in the company. It struck me that Shakespeare had been a little remiss in only writing the 'seven ages of man', which certainly nowadays might be called a bit of male chauvinist bacon. Why didn't he write 'seven ages of woman? The sort of silly question revue writers ask themselves, which we proceeded to do for him. Here it is, the various ladies of different ages are played by Pat Lancaster, Anne Rogers and Charlotte Michell, the baby girl at the beginning is Donald, and the old lady at the end is me. Each is introduced by a piece of neo-Shakespearean verse, and who better to do that, after his great success at the National Theatre, as one of the gusts in The Tempest, then Julian Orchard.

Narrator: Mewing and puking in no nurse's arms, for nurses are extinct throughout the nation, The infant daughter first displays her charms, a living argument for limitation.

My first baby sitter was a certain Mrs. Rushforth,
Who'd declared she's sat with babies by the score,
I dribbled down her dress and then I bit her,
Mrs. Rushforth won't be sitting any more.

They approached our next-door neighbour,
Known as dear old Mrs. Nelson,
She'd never sat, but longed to have a try,
I tossed her umbrella like a caber,
Mrs. Nelson won't go sitting with one eye.

The lady from the agency, I somehow set on fire.
I gave the vicar measles,
And he gave it to the choir.
My patent's final efforts,
Baby sitter Miss El Drago,
Is as different from the others as can be,
She waits until we're quite alone,
She disconnects the telephone,
She locks the doors, then firmly sits on me!

Narrator: The schoolgirl next, with her shining evening face. At her first dance, self-conscious, overgrown, afraid to move in terror of disgrace, escaping to a dream world of her own...

Schoolgirl: It happened tonight at the tennis club ball,
For hours and hours I sat by the wall,
Then suddenly somebody came out of the crowd,
'May I have the pleasure', he said, and he bowed,
I paused, before answering, rather too loud,
'Oh, no, I'm afraid I don't dance!'

My mother was dreadfully angry and said;
'I pay for your lessons at school,
So why, when at last you're invited to dance,
Do you have to behave like an absolute fool?'

'I wanted to dance,
I was just on the brink,
But while he was speaking I started to think,
I thought, 'If we dance, he'll admire my new dress,
Perhaps he'll propose and I'll have to say yes,'
I thought of my marriage
And then where it led,
Estrangement, divorce,
How I wish I were dead!
I thought of my children, so that's why I said:
'Oh, no, I'm afraid I don't dance!'.

Narrator: The only boy in the world for her, our number three's young man knows what he's at. We hope. For if his calculations err, quite soon he could be literally that.

My boy's a nuclear physicist,
Helps Sir William Penny down at Harwell,
My boy's a nuclear physicist,
Making his atomic pile,
He's just an ordinary fellow,
He disintegrated Montebello
And when the lights are low,
There's more that Uranium in his cranium,

My boy's a nuclear physicist,
And I'm going to be his bride,
For he makes less fuss for the nucleus,
But rather more
For the physical side.

Narrator: And now, with the Lord Chamberlain's consent, tomorrow's mother on the stage we see, she's properly prepared for the event, with antenatal care..... A N T E....

It's ever so nice at the clinic,
As soon as your trouble begins,
They keep you for days,
And they weights and x-rays,
'Til they're practically sure it's not going to be twins,
It's ever so nice at the clinic,
Enjoying some pre-natal care,
You meet all your chums
Who're about to be mums,
Oh, everyone ought to be there!

The doctors and the nursing staff do all they can to spoil,
They give you pills to take away,
And lovely big bottles of cod liver oil,
I hope you won't think me a cynic,
But honest, I'm dreading the day,
When it's hail, smiling morn,
My baby is born,
And the clinic will send me away!

Narrator: Fifth, stands the harassed housewife in the rain, thankfully grasping a Pandora's casket, which all her goods, not evils, doth contain, a big, two-wheeled, long handled, shopping basket.

When for shopping I am dressing
I'm reminded what a blessing
Is the kind of shopping basket you can push.
I would like to thank the makers,
You can trail it to the bakers,
And the butchers and then back to Shepherd's Bush.
The children love to ride it
When I've got the coal inside it,
And the washing, it has every sort of use,
On it's own in perfect silence
It will ladder ladies nylons
When they try to push in front of me in queues.
Thought the wickerwork is soiling,
And the axle screams for oiling,
And it's got a sort of stutter in one wheel,
Though I sadly overtask it,
I love the little basket,
And I hope to ask it knows the way I feel!

Narrator: Our next is last but one on the bill, as imperceptibly time turns the page. Her children, parents now, seem children still. A youthful heart beats on through middle age.

I never thought, quite suddenly,
The day would come at last,
When I must quietly tell myself,
My dear, your youth has past.
Now you must learn to wear a shawl,
And wrap up when it's cold,
For yesterday I felt still young,
Today I know I'm old.
Today a bus conductor showed me age has left its scar,
Instead of saying 'Hop in, ducks', he said 'Now come on, Ma!'

Narrator: We finally present age number seven, this grande dame's not yet had her final fling, thank be, originally, to Bevan, with teeth, with specs, with hair, with everything.

It's a wonderful year,
It's a wonderful date,
And the family's here to celebrate,
Oh, it's fine to be known as great great great,
I'm a hundred and four today!
Oh the mayor's on his way
And the vicar's been
And the man from the ladies magazine,
I've a telegram here from the dear young Queen,
I'm a hundred and four today!
I'm a hundred and four,
Maybe more,
There's nobody left who's kept the score,
I was just a girl,
I remember well,
On the first Trafalgar day,
Surrounded by my kith and kin,
I'm waiting for the party to begin,
There's a wonderful spread for din din din,
So fetch those damn reporters in,
And tell 'em I owe it all to gin,
I'm a hundred and four today!

The Vicar: We hate to tell you, but parish records clearly show you have not yet reached a hundred. You have still six years to go.

MF: I can't hear a word. Never mind dear...

Cast:	MF:
Dear old Grandma,	It's a wonderful year,
Take it easy,	It's a wonderful date,
Take it easy,	And the family's here to celebrate,
We implore,	I'm a hundred and four today!
There has been	Oh the mayor's on his way
A dreadful error,	And the vicar's been
You are only	And the man from the ladies magazine,
Ninety-four.	I've a telegram here from the dear young Queen,
	I'm a hundred and four!
You're ninety-four!
	It may be more!
We've kept the score!
	I was just a girl...
That's all very well but you're ninety-four today!
It's not use,	Surrounded by my kith and kin,
She'll never hear us,	I'm waiting for the party to begin,
Let's all come back	There's a wonderful spread for din din din,
Ten years later	So fetch those damn reporters in,
And then anyway she can truthfully say:
	I'm a hundred and four today!

Originally from the album 'And The We Wrote...'.