Editor’s note: This is an unusual article for Ministry Today, being a creative ‘sermon’ based on a remarkable and ground-breaking TV drama from 1977. I wasn’t sure whether it was the right sort of thing to publish in this website/journal, but I was convinced by the ‘conversations’ later in the item, in which the various characters of the drama voice feelings, thoughts and attitudes which everyone who, like me, regularly conducts funerals for those whose ‘faith’, if it exists at all, is peripheral to their everyday lives. Enjoy!
On 11-13 October 2007, Trinity Players (from TrinityMethodistChurch, Woking) performed “Abigail’s Party”.
On Sunday 14th October they performed two excerpts from the play in the morning service and the sermon explored issues raised by the play. There was also an introduction to enable people who had not seen the play to have enough background to understand the theme of the worship.
The material that follows consists of:
Copies of all this material was made available for reflection to groups and individuals in the church. A DVD of the original BBC “Play for Today” was available. The Sunday service was available on tape. Some questions were also provided
Bob Sneddon
Intro at Church
Abigail’s party was devised from scratch by improvisation and directed by Mike Leigh. It is set in spring 1977, the year it was devised.
A couple (Beverly and Laurence) who have been married for three years host a dinner party in suburban North London. They have invited their new neighbours, Angela and Tony. They also invite a divorced single mum (Sue) whose 15 year old daughter, Abigail, is having her first ‘grown up’ party a couple of houses a way.
The early part of the play works thorough traditional; ‘getting to know you’ topics (work, family, how people met their partners and relationships).
In the play you get a sense that no one really likes each other, and everyone is pre-occupied with their own concerns. Beverly carries many aspirations, but emerges as overbearing, manipulative and downright unpleasant. Her husband Laurence (a little pretentious with an interest in books and art history) seems to have hopes moving in an entirely different direction.
There are constant asides to Abigail’s party, causing you to think that something must/is about to happen. Eventually you know the play must be drawing to a conclusion when suddenly Laurence chokes and dies of a heart attack. The penny drops that there have been hints of doom throughout the play and you are left reeling by the sudden death.
I thought the play worked well at two levels - the immediate details and the big picture. Looking back over 30 years, the dialogue contains the seeds of issues taken for granted in our society. There are the beginnings of consumerism after post war austerity - holidays abroad, new foods, cars and the aspiration to own a house. There is a probing of all sorts of relationship issues - marriage, friendship and family - though nothing on life in a multi cultural society. Technology (the phones worked by dialling!) is about to explode and Tony is a computer programmer. The dinner party is lubricated by alcohol and the language authentic, but not the sort that would have pleased my grandmother! There is nothing overtly religious unless you count religious swear words and the occasional biblical image such as when Laurence says he is “not Tony’s keeper”. But why was the daughter called Abigail? It is a biblical name meaning “source of joy”. Is God hidden in the questions the story provokes?
It is the bigger picture that I found most challenging. The hints about Abigail’s party constantly divert your attention, so you listen to the dialogue, but with half an ear, because you assume it is only an introduction to the main action. In the same way the characters in the story only half listen to each other, always wanting and looking for something else. My take on the play is that it is a parable calling us to look, really look, at where we are and not to be diverted.
This play was shown on BBC-1 as the “Play for Today” in November 1977. A month earlier, I had started in theological college, and, as a result, was out of the flow of music, TV and films for a couple of years. What would we have made of this play in one of our theology classes? That led me to the way I want to try and bring the play into our worship today. After the next hymn I am going to speak as though I am taking Laurence’s funeral based on the play and some imaginative creation of background.
Laurence’s Funeral address
Reading Psalm 23
Intro
We gather in memory of Laurence Moss - to give thanks for his life and to commend him into God’s hands. We hold you his family and friends in our thoughts and prayers.
Beverly - who married Laurence in this church three years ago.
Those who were with him a week ago Saturday - Angela, Tony and Sue - and of course, Abigail, whose party that night was so suddenly and sadly brought to a close.
I want to draw together three images from the psalm we have just read together.
Good Things
I do not want to say this lightly on an occasion such as this, but it is right that we should celebrate Laurence’s life.
His relationships/marriage.
His work - Estate Agent / growing responsibility.
Gift of time - hard work, loyal, study.
Books - he was taught by a member of this church who saw him recently and tells me of his love of books, appreciation of art and his hope to travel to Paris.
Touching on these things blends pain and celebration.
Enemies
Laurence born 1943 - in the war - know what it is to have enemies. Many here who fought and laboured in the war.
Laurence knew what it was to struggle with his health.
Strain of long hours - Beverley has shared her concern about this.
The battle with ourselves - being short tempered - tired.
NONE OF US ARE PERFECT!
Has the enemy won? Is the good defeated?
Laurence loved paintings and I know one of his heroes was Van Gogh. Did Laurence know, I wonder, that van Gogh worked for the MethodistChurch in the 1870s here in London? Working as what we would call a Lay Worker?
Van Gogh spent his life searching for the deepest, most profound truth, often from a place of great pain. Do his pictures speak finally of hope or despair?
Presence of God
Two images from the psalm - provider and enemy - the third is about the presence of God.
In the early part of the psalm, God leads and provides, and is referred to as “He”. In the darkest place, the valley of the shadow of death, he becomes “Thou”! This is not a word of everyday use. I wonder if for Laurence, with his love of books, it was a word he had come to recognise speaks of deep closeness and intimacy?
In the Christian Community, we believe we meet that “thou” in the baby born at Christmas in a manger, but we meet him also in the dark valley of death when Jesus dies on the cross. That is as bleak a place as we feel we are in today, and it touches the grief we feel and the hope we need.
For in this spring season, death is not the end. Not because bulbs flower and bare trees are covered with leaves, but because at Easter we remember that Jesus has been raised from the dead to new life. Death does not have the last word and there is hope in the saddest place.
God does not magically protect us from pain, but he does hold us in, through and beyond it. He holds Laurence and he holds us. May you know his peace and blessing in the days ahead. Amen.
The Relatives Perspective (by Judith Bramall)
Bob, a while ago you asked me to give some thought to what you might be told by relatives about the deceased were you to meet them during the preparation period for the funeral.
It hasn’t been easy. In the play, we are given only a few little hints about the characters’ backgrounds, and about Laurence there is least of all! So I have had to use an awful lot of conjecture and imagination, based solely on things he says, and what Beverly says about him. In these ‘interviews’, I’ve tried to see the situation very much from each interviewee’s standpoint. Needless to say, Beverly’s is not entirely uncoloured by self-centredness!
You are, of course, being transported back by time-machine to conduct Laurence’s funeral in the late 1970s. Laurence would have experienced the education system/leaving age current during my own growing-up years. His parents would have been through the Second World War, his father quite likely seeing active service.
LAURENCE MOSS 1943 - 1977
Born 1943, Stoke Newington. Educated NorthStreetPrimary School, then KeirHardieSecondaryModernSchool, Stoke Newington. Forecourt Assistant at Alpha Cars 1958 - 1961. Sales Representative for CrystalConservatories 1961 - 1965. Several positions of increasing responsibility at Wibley Webb (Estate Agents) 1965 up until his death in 1977.
THE WIDOW
Beverley: I just can’t believe this has happened. I keep thinking he’s going to walk through that door, same as usual. I wake up in the morning, and for a moment everything seems normal. Then it hits me. It’s like being in a horrible dream. I somehow knew this would happen one day, but it’s still a shock. You never think it’ll be - today. Not at his age. I thought it would be more when he was fifty or sixty or something.
I told him and told him, “You’ll kill yourself, Laurence!”, but he wouldn’t listen to me. If you knew the number of times I’ve pleaded with him to take a day off, but he never would. “It isn’t a nine to five job,” he’d always say, and you’re telling me it wasn’t, the way he did it. The number of times I’ve ended up throwing his dinner away, then him walking in at half-past ten or eleven. “Oh, I only had time for a little sandwich,” he’d say, or he’d have grabbed a MacDonald’s or a KFC. And then I’d lose my temper, ‘cos - let’s face it - that pizza or fish and chips I’d thrown out cost good money, and sometimes I’d have gone to a lot of trouble - cooked up some pasta and a nice jar of sauce for him, or done one of those Vesta packet curries.
I feel awful now, the way I used to get cross with him. It wasn’t just the meals. He’d always come home tired, too tired to want to do anything but read, and it all got so boring. It had been great when we first met - he used to make such a fuss of me and buy me all sorts of lovely presents - all my friends were jealous! And him having a job like that - an estate agent! Me and my friends, all our parents worked in factories, if they worked at all. None of that for us, we said, and we all got into shop work, though I did even better, got to be a Beautician at John Lewis. I felt just like a film star on my wedding day. And then we had this fantastic honeymoon in Torremolinos. But once you get home, I don’t know, you can’t keep it exciting like that, d’you know what I mean? Three years we’ve been married, and just lately it’s felt more like thirty, I’ve been so bored. He’s either been out at work, or flaked out exhausted in that armchair, yawning his head off. And let’s face it, vicar, you do hope for a bit more than that from a marriage, don’t you?
I kept saying to him, “Laurence, take some time off. You’re due for a break. Let’s go back to Torremolinos again.” But do you know what? “We’ll go on holiday one of these days,” he’d say, “but I want to go to Paris.” “Paris! Whatever do you want to go there for?” I’d say, but I knew why really. It was to do with all these painters he’d started reading about - the ones who did all these awful dreary pictures. Just look at them - exactly why are they supposed to be so good? Look at those blurry ballet dancers - that could have been a really pretty picture. And that view of the hills and bushes and rocks? Blimey, I could have painted that!
Well, there’s one good thing, I suppose. I won’t have to do that boring Paris trip now.
I suppose really we shouldn’t have got married. I’ve thought about it, and I can see now we didn’t have a lot in common. But we went into it thinking we’d be happy, and he was always very good with money whenever I wanted anything, I can’t deny that.
I just wish I could wake up and find this hadn’t happened. I wish we could go back and try again. But it still mightn’t be any better, might it?
THE PARENTS
Hilda Moss: I don’t think you’d want to hear what I’ve got to say. In fact, I really don’t know why Beverly’s involved you at all. We’re none of us churchgoers or anything.
Bert Moss: Just weddings and christenings - the usual sort of thing. Nothing else.
Hilda: So I really don’t know what you’re doing here. I hope you’re not going to start telling us it’s “God’s will”, ‘cos that would be a downright insult. Our Laurie never did anything to deserve this, and don’t you try and tell me different.
Bert: Nothing personal, padre. The wife’s pretty upset. We all are.
Hilda: Upset? I’m devastated. I’m never going to get over this. I mean, you don’t expect your kids to go first, do you? It ain’t natural.
Bert: We’ve been so proud of what he’s made of his life.
Hilda: It’s what we taught him, isn’t it, Dad? We’ve always told him, right from the start, it’s a jungle out there, it’s them or you, and you’ve just got to grab everything you can, or else you’ve had it.
Bert: You’ve got to make money, we told him. You’ve got to get out there earning just as soon as you can. ‘Cos if you don’t make the money, there’s plenty of other people ready to grab it.
Hilda: Specially nowadays, with all these perishing foreigners everywhere you look.
Bert: And he took it on board. OK, he went through a silly patch for a bit when he got some airy-fairy ideas about wanting to do music, or painting, or some rubbish of that sort.
Hilda: Some stupid teacher filled his head with a lot of nonsense. Got him reading all sorts of books from the ruddy library -
Bert: Tried to tell him he ought to go to flaming university -
Hilda: Well, we soon put a stop to all that. We had him out of school the first day he could legally leave, and he never looked back. Started from nothing, and now, twenty years on, he’d got the lot. A well-paid job for life, a new car every year, a lovely home -
Bert: Nice-looking wife -
Hilda: Everything we could’ve dreamed of for him.
Bert: Some kiddies would’ve been nice.
Hilda: They’d’ve been next, Dad, that’s for sure. But now it’s all ruined. He had everything, then suddenly - all gone! Just like that. Without the slightest warning. Sorry, you’ll have to excuse us, I just can’t bear to talk about it any more...
THE TEACHER
Ann Wedgwood, recently retired. A Methodist, one of your congregation:
Bob, I understand Sheila told you that I’d known Laurence Moss for some while. Yes - not very closely, but for over twenty years. I just can’t believe this has happened. I was so shocked when I heard.
I first came across him when he was thirteen or so. I taught his class English. You know what they’re like at that age - trying to sound smart, looking for any chance to muck about... Laurence was no angel, but just now and again I could tell that one of the books we were studying had caught his interest, and as time passed that interest definitely deepened. He wanted to try for English Literature at O-Level, I remember - I think he wanted to do Music and Maths as well - and he got so keen on reading that I told him how to join the Public Library. Do you know, I don’t think he’d ever heard of it! He’d certainly never been taken inside. From things he said, I got the impression that he came from a home where there weren’t many books, if any.
He wasn’t a genius or anything exceptional, but he certainly had the ability to take some O-Levels and go on to some sort of higher education. And I got the feeling he wanted to. But he received no encouragement whatsoever from his parents. I don’t know if there were money problems at home, but he seemed to be under pressure to get out and start earning. He left as soon as he could. I was so disappointed for him.
Laurence wouldn’t have looked on me as a friend in those days, of course, and we didn’t purposely try to keep in touch. But over the years we’ve bumped into each other a number of times, and I’ve always been interested to hear how he’s been getting on. He’s always painted a very glowing picture. Wonderful job, lots of money, one of those new houses in Richmond Road - and married, of course, these last few years - but - I don’t know. I could always somehow sense an underlying restlessness. A hankering for something more. A while ago, we got talking about literature one day, and he asked me to compile a list of books a ‘well-read’ person ought to know, which I did. When I gave it to him, he seemed very pleased; he’d started subscribing to one of those book collections you build up month by month, those ones you see advertised in magazines, and he said most of the classics I’d listed were due to be coming as part of his set. I last saw him a few weeks ago, and he was telling me then about a new series he had started collecting, all about art - each month he’d get a magazine about the life and work of a well-known artist, and a print of one of his works. He said his lounge would look like the National Gallery by the time he’d finished! Apparently he was hoping to go to France soon, and see for himself where some of them had found their inspiration.
And now he’ll never get to go, will he, Bob? He had a dream, but somehow he was never able to make it a reality. In some ways you’d have to say he’s done pretty well - but I don’t know. It just seems such a very sad waste of what might have been.
EXTRA NOTE
For the Sunday service, Bob made the assumption that Beverley and Laurence had been married in a MethodistChurch and that was why a Methodist Minister was conducting the service.
You are reading Abigail's Party by Judith Bramall and Bob Sneddon, part of Issue 41 of Ministry Today, published in November 2007.
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