Recently discovered in a trunk buried under the A3 roundabout was discovery which has left the literary world in amazement. Inside the trunk, perfectly persevered were bundles of scripts written in the late forties early fifties by a hitherto unsuspected angry young man Donald Smallbones. Unpublished and un-regarded at the time, these plays and sketches bring to light the angry absurdity of suburban living. The East Finchley Review of Books has called them “interesting.” We at Ye Imp certainly thinks so, and Maud Smallbones – Donald’s Widow – has given us permission to publish them here. What Samuel Beckett and Eugene Ionesco were to the continent Donald Samllbones is to the A3 Roundaout.
THE POWER OF LARD
man 1: Good Morning
man 2: Good Morning
man 1: Talking of Good Mornings I have some Lard to sell
man 2: Really? Lard you say?
Man 1: Yes top quality
man 2: Perchance I could survey this lard?
man 1: Yes
F/X: sound of something being removed from a sack
man 1: There you go Sir, survey the lard
Man 2: Hmm, hmm, yes very good (pause) wait!
man 1: Is there a problem with the lard sir?
man 2: Yes; were you not aware, or were you trying to pass off fraudulent goods?
man 1: Sir?
man 2: This is not lard, this is clearly Harry Eels the Pearly King of the A1 Roundabout and Champion Spoon Player.
man 1: Really Sir? I think you’re mistaken
man 2: Well let me prod him to be sure
F/X: squelching sound followed by the sound of a motor revving up. through out harry Eels’ song the sond of spoons clacking at 78rpm can be heard
harry eels: (singing) I’m Henry the eighth I am Henry the eighth I am I am. I got married to the widow next door she’s been married seven times…
F/X: explosion
F/X: silence
F/X: rattling of spoons on the floor
man 1: Well he’s Lard now.
Ye Imp 