George Orwell has rented a Scottish cottage to complete his final novel. Unfortunately, he's been double-booked with the very last person he'd choose a holiday with.
George Orwell has rented a Scottish cottage to complete his final novel. Unfortunately, he's been double-booked with the very last person he'd choose a holiday with.
The first season of Untrue Stories will visit the worlds of both H. G. Wells' The Time Machine and George Orwell's Nineteen Eighty-Four, exploring how the infamous rivalry between two of Britain's greatest speculative fiction writers culminated in an astonishing, hilarious, and entirely untrue story of meddling with causality and bicycles.
In this episode, tea and tempers boil over as Orwell and his inadvertent roommate H. G. Wells argue over the fate that awaits humankind. Will society develop into Wells's steam-powered dream, or Orwell's dystopian nightmare? Wells' latest engineering project may allow them to settle their bet...
Starring Robin Johnson as George Orwell, Patrick Spragg as H. G. Wells, and Joanna Lawrie as Mrs Watchett. Sound effects were sourced from freesound.org.
References:
2022-09-09: This is episode 1, reuploaded and backdated to avert a catastrophe. Apologies for any confusion.
A transcript of this episode is available here.
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[Theme music plays: a jingly 'chill-out' style tune on kalimba and mountain dulcimer with slight distortion.]
VOICEOVER (Robin): Untrue Stories. Season One: The Adventures of George Orwell and H. G. Wells. Episode One: A Nice Cup of Tea.
[Music fades out.
Sound effects (FX): Heavy rain. Distant bagpipe music. A door closes, shutting out the sound.]
MRS WATCHETT: (Scots accent) Well, here we are, Mr Orwell. I hope you’ll find everything to your satisfaction.
GEORGE ORWELL: (Gruff English accent) It’s perfect. Thank you. A real Scottish island cottage, five hundred miles from London – the perfect place to finish my book.
MRS WATCHETT: Ah yes, you’re the storybook man, aren’t you. I read one o’ yours, the one with the wee animals takin’ over the farm. Read it to my granddaughter, she couldn't stop laughing. What’s this one about?
ORWELL: It’s about the future.
MRS WATCHETT: Oh, science fiction.
ORWELL: Not exactly, more sort of social –
MRS WATCHETT: My grandkids are all into it. Stay up all night arguin’ who’s the better captain, Nemo or Ahab... it’s ridiculous, I tell them.
ORWELL: It is rather.
MRS WATCHETT: I know. Ahab’d win without a fight.
ORWELL: Now hang on.
MRS WATCHETT: I mean, Nemo’s the intellectual, I know that, but Ahab’s got the will, he’s got the passion... he’s got the muscle.
ORWELL: Yes, well, Nemo knows there are some situations that can’t be resolved by charging in with a harpoon-gun.
(Pause.)
MRS WATCHETT: What’s your storybook about, then? I hope it’s got airships in it. I like airships.
ORWELL: Not so many airships, no. It’s a vision of life in the year 1984.
MRS WATCHETT: Is that the manuscript?
ORWELL: It’s not really ready –
MRS WATCHETT: Go on, give us a peek...
ORWELL: Wait a minute –
MRS WATCHETT: Aw, come on. I’ll not laugh. I’ll never know if you got it wrong. I’ll be long dead by the nineteen-eighties, let’s have a wee read...
[FX: Paper rustling]
MRS WATCHETT: [Reading] "It was a bright cold day in April and the radio was playing glam rock. Winston Smith adjusted his aviator sunglasses as he drove his convertible past the bowling alley..."
ORWELL: That’s the future, Mrs Watchett! A society driven by greed, shallowness, conspicuous consumerism and ridiculous clothing fads. Chilling, isn’t it?
MRS WATCHETT: Well, put me on the list for a signed copy when you’re finished.
ORWELL: I’ll finish it soon enough out here.
MRS WATCHETT: That’s grand. You set up your wee typewriter machine on that sideboard.
[FX: Typewriter carriage being moved.]
MRS WATCHETT: Technology, eh. My grandkids, they’re all into their portable typewriters, typin' out telegrams all day an’ night. I cannae get mine tae start.
ORWELL: Perfect. No distractions, no London socialites. No annoying fellow writers who think they know it all, when actually they’re wrong about everything and I know it all –
[FX: Knock on door. Door opens. Short blast of rain and bagpipe music before it shuts.]
H. G. WELLS: (English accent) Hullo!
MRS WATCHETT: In you come, Mr Wells.
ORWELL/WELLS: [Simultaneously] What’s he doing here?
MRS WATCHETT: M-Mr Wells, this is Mr George Orwell, he’s a –
WELLS: – a dreadful big-footed Trotskyist hack. We’ve met.
MRS WATCHETT: And – er – Mr Orwell, this is Mr H G Wells, who’s –
ORWELL: – an archaic techno-pacifist utopian dinosaur. I’m acquainted with Mr Wells. What’s happening? I thought I’d rented a remote cottage to complete my groundbreaking work of science – I mean, political fiction undisturbed.
WELLS: And I thought I’d rented it to finish work on my important secret engineering project. How I’m supposed to do that with this lanky Bolshevik clumping around –
MRS WATCHETT: Gentlemen! I’m sorry you’ve got the wrong idea, but you’ve rented half the cottage each. It’s a butt-and-ben. Two rooms. Now, I’ll leave you to sort out between yourselves who’s gonnae get the ben, and who’s in the butt.
ORWELL: Yes, yes, we’ll have to make do.
MRS WATCHETT: Fine. I’ll be back in with your supper when it’s ready. You two enjoy yourselves.
[FX: Door opens and closes.]
WELLS: I’ll put the kettle on.
[FX: Water pouring, clinking of tea things.]
WELLS: That this new novel in progress I’ve heard about?
[ORWELL humphs.]
WELLS: Good, is it?
ORWELL: [Muttering] ’S’all right.
WELLS: What’s it about this time? More animals?
ORWELL: They weren’t animals, Wells. They were analogies. The pigs were the Communists and the farmer was the Czar and the carthorse was the working poor and the donkey obviously was –
WELLS: Yes, yes, subtle as a machine-gun as usual. What’s this one?
ORWELL: If you must know, it’s about the future.
WELLS: Science fiction! So you’ve finally scribbled your way up to the One True Genre.
ORWELL: No, Wells, it isn’t science fiction. I’ve no interest in your Boy’s Eagle Book of Adventure stories about invisible time-travelling Martians.
WELLS: It’s commentary, Orwell. The Martians reflect our own fears of uncertainty in the face of an uncaring world. You know it's grand technological thinkers like me who inspire the minds of the younger generation.
ORWELL: Yes, I know the kind of minds you’re talking about. Genre fanatics. The ones who can recite every Sherlock Holmes story by heart and who’ll stay up all night writing on the correspondence pages of the Tribune about whether a woman should ever be cast as Doctor Frankenstein, or who could win in a fight between the Scarlet Pimpernel and Zorro.
WELLS: Ludicrous.
ORWELL: I know. Zorro wouldn’t stand a chance.
WELLS: Now wait a moment –
ORWELL: All he has to do is track Don Diego down at his day job, one stab and it’s over.
WELLS: The Pimpernel doesn’t know Zorro is Don Diego. It’s a secret identity.
ORWELL: Really? You think that little mask fools anyone? “Oh, where did the great swordsman Zorro go? All I see here is a minor nobleman of the exact same build and skin tone, but that can’t possibly be Zorro because Zorro wears a tiny mask over an eighth of his face.
[FX: Whistle of a boiling kettle]
WELLS: Orwell. [Sharply] Orwell! You and I may be bitter literary rivals, but the time has come to put our differences aside.
ORWELL: Why?
WELLS: Because the tea is ready. [FX: Clink of teacups.] No need to say thank you.
ORWELL: Well, let’s hope you can at least make a decent cuppa.
[FX: Sipping.]
ORWELL: Ugh!
WELLS: Oh dear. Down the wrong pipe?
ORWELL: This is not tea.
WELLS: Fairly sure it said tea on the packet, George.
ORWELL: Look here, you idealistic antique. There are eleven rules to making a nice cup of tea, and they are all golden. Didn’t you read my essay on the subject in the Evening Standard?
WELLS: Let’s assume I’m one of the small number of people who didn’t get round to it.
ORWELL: This – liquid is in clear violation of rule one, rule two, rule three, rule f– amazing, it’s all of them. You’ve got zero out of eleven, I think that’s the first time I’ve seen a zero.
WELLS: Oh my goodness. Are you the tea police now?
ORWELL: Rule one. Use only Indian or Ceylonese tea.
WELLS: Oh, I’m sure it’s from round there somewhere.
ORWELL: Not good enough. Indian or Ceylonese. The rest isn’t tea, it’s food colouring. You know when they did that bloody partition I had to throw out half my stocks? Where’s this from, anyway?
[FX: Rustle of packaging]
ORWELL: [Horrified] Yorkshire? They don’t grow tea in Yorkshire. [Suspiciously] Is this gravy?
WELLS: I don’t think it’s actually grown in Yorkshire.
ORWELL: Rule two. Tea must be brewed in a teapot.
WELLS: I did use a teapot. [FX. Metal clink.] There it is.
ORWELL: A teapot is made of china, earthenware or on occasion pewter and has a capacity no greater than one Imperial quart. That, sir, is an urn. Rule three. The pot should be warmed beforehand.
WELLS: I did warm it.
ORWELL: On the hob. Not by swilling it out with lukewarm water like you’re rinsing the dog dish.
WELLS: George, you can’t heat a teapot on a hob.
ORWELL: Not if it’s an urn!
WELLS: You burned down three Parisian hotels trying to heat teapots on hobs –
ORWELL: Well, they should have had proper hobs. Rule four. The tea should be strong.
Six heaped Sheffield teaspoons to the Imperial quart. For drinkers over the age of forty,
allow one extra teaspoon per decade of life. [Getting more agitated] Rule five. No
strainers, no bags, no kidding. Rule six. One should take the teapot to the kettle and not
the other way about.
WELLS: You can taste that?
ORWELL: Rule seven. No stirring. One need merely give the pot a good shake.
[FX. Clinking of a metal teapot being shaken frantically.]
WELLS: You’re getting it all over the floor.
ORWELL: Rule eight. A cylindrical cup. Rule nine. Skim the cream off the milk. Rule ten. [Gravely.] Possibly the most controversial. One should pour the tea into the cup before the milk.
WELLS: I don’t know about that.
ORWELL: Rule eleven. No sugar.
WELLS: I like sugar.
ORWELL: No you don’t, that’s just what Mr Tate and Mr Lyle want you to believe. Zero out of eleven. This – fluid is good for nothing but fertilising aspidistras.
[FX. Liquid being poured away.]
WELLS: Fine. Make your own tea.
ORWELL: I will. And you know what? I’ll make it properly.
[FX. Rummaging through china in cupboards.]
ORWELL: There, here’s a packet of... [FX: rustle of packaging] Colonel Clarence “the Butcher” Bentley-Cambridge’s Eleven O’Clock Darjeeling. Authentic Indian recipe. And here’s a proper pot...
[FX. Clinking of tea things, continuing through the next few lines.]
WELLS: So, what is this book about, the one that’s set in the future using social and technological speculation to make a commentary on people and society, but dear me no it isn’t science fiction. Let’s see.
ORWELL: Don’t you dare!
WELL: Well, aren’t you going to stop me? You can’t. Your first duty is to the tea.
[FX. Shuffling of paper]
ORWELL: Give that back!
[FX. Kettle whistling]
WELLS: Oh dear, Orwell, I think it might have been boiling for slightly more than the designated three point eight seconds...
[FX. Whistle stops, more tea clinks]
ORWELL: This is thoroughly ungentlemanly of you.
WELLS: “Nineteen Eighty-Four, by George Orwell.” It is science fiction.
ORWELL: It is not. It’s a political statement.
WELLS: The two things aren’t exclusive, George, unless you’re extraordinarily pompous. Oh. Carry on.
[FX. Flipping paper]
WELLS: “O’Brien twisted the Rubik’s cube as Mrs Parsons adjusted her furry leg-warmers.”
ORWELL: Stop that!
WELLS: What’s a deely-bopper?
ORWELL: I’m warning you, Wells.
[FX. Tea-things still clinking. Paper flipping]
WELLS: It isn’t bad. Needs more steam engines.
[FX. Teapot being forcibly slammed down on counter]
ORWELL: [Yelling furiously] Oh, it’s all about steam-engines with you, isn’t it! Steam power and shiny brass gears and steel utopias and aeroplanes and luxury vegetarian meals served by automatons to men in top hats and goggles with cogs glued on them. It’s a fantasy, Wells, you’ll see! The future is going to be miserable and tedious and everyone will be unhappy all the time and then we’ll see who’s laughing – [Suddenly changing tone] It’s ready!
[FX. Tea being poured. Sipping]
ORWELL: [Immediately calm again] Ah. There – the perfect nice cup of tea. Taste it and weep.
WELLS: Are you a betting man? Because I’ve got a pound in my rather elegant waistcoat-pocket that says the world will be living in a steam-powered pacifistic utopia by the year – let’s say – 1984.
ORWELL: You know what, Herbert, you’d be on. I’d take that bet. Were it not for the fact that in 1984 you’ll be dead, and I’ll be a curmudgeonly old man whose only pleasure is knowing that you’re dead. So I’ll be the only one to know I was right. Pity.
WELLS: What if there were a way we could check now?
ORWELL: Do go on.
WELLS: That’s why I’m on this island. To put the finishing touches to my invention. I needed somewhere remote to test it, in case it – goes wrong. Ironing out the glitches, but I believe it’s broadly working already. I left it outside. Let me go and get it.
[FX. Door opens]
ORWELL: This should be entertaining. [Sips.] Oh, that’s good.
[FX. Door closes. Bicycle being pushed. Bicycle bell rings.]
WELLS: Here we are!
ORWELL: You’re going to go and fetch the invention on your bicycle?
WELLS: No. The bicycle is the invention.
ORWELL: I am sorry to break it to you, Wells, but the bicycle has already been invented. It can be traced back as far as the Laufmaschine commissioned in 1817 by the German official Karl von Drais, who was in need of a fast route between his place of work and the local sausage shop –
WELLS: This is a very special bicycle, Orwell. It can travel through time itself.
ORWELL: Herbert George Wells, are you telling me that you, popular novelist, social
critic and former upholsterer’s apprentice, have penetrated the secrets of the universe
and constructed a genuine working time machine... out of a Pashley bicycle?
WELLS: That I have, George, that I have. This is the greatest advancement in cycle technology since derailleur gears. And it wasn’t an upholsterer’s, it was a draper’s. World of difference.
ORWELL: And you’re proposing that, what, you give me a backie and we trundle off to 1984 and see the steam engines.
WELLS: No, it’ll only carry one person. But I could go and look, and come back and tell you what I saw.
ORWELL: If you don’t mind, I’ve an unhappy ending to write. Just stay out of my way for the evening and I’ll carry on humouring your bizarre delusions tomorrow.
[FX: Paper being loaded into typewriter]
WELLS: What would it take to convince you?
ORWELL: You know what? More than that.
WELLS: What do you really believe in? What’s the one thing that you could never turn your nose up at, George Orwell? Sure, you’re a career cynic but everyone has faith in something, what’s yours?
ORWELL: Nothing! I’m a joyless void and that’s the way I like it. You’d know that if you read my books.
WELLS: No, no. I’ve read you. I wouldn’t say you’re a ray of sunshine, but there’s a spark of optimism if you keep an eye out for it. What keeps you going?
[FX: Clink of teacup]
WELLS: It’s tea! Would you say you’re the only person in the world who can make a cup of tea as good as this one?
ORWELL: That is dishearteningly probable.
WELLS: Give me your cup.
ORWELL: What?
WELLS: Your tea. Nobody else can make a proper cup of tea like you, right? I mean, if I tried to replace your tea with one I’d made, you’d notice at once.
ORWELL: Before it got past the moustache.
WELLS: So, if I return here in a week’s time, with this perfect cup of tea, and it’s still warm –
ORWELL: You can’t trick me, Wells, I can tell if it’s been reboiled.
WELLS: No reboiling.
ORWELL: And a thermos flask leaves a distinctive glassy texture.
WELLS: No thermos flasks. The bicycle’s already capable of short trips. I will take it out there and I will travel through time, seven days into the future – and if I come to you just as I am, this time next week, with this cup of tea, and if it’s the same cup and it’s still warm, there can only be one of two explanations. Either your tea-making skills are not as unique as you think they are –
[ORWELL harrumphs]
WELLS: – or the time machine works.
ORWELL: You’re on. I know it’s a sham, but at least I get peace and quiet for a week.
[FX: Door opens. Bicycle being pushed. Door closes. Rain and distant bagpipes. Bicycle being ridden, speeding up and warping into a sci-fi time-travel effect. Bicycle bell rings. Sound abruptly stops.
Long pause.]
ORWELL: Now.
[FX: Typing.]
ORWELL: Julia stood up, rearranged her shoulderpads, and pogo-balled out of the
pizzeria.
[FX: Typing fades out.]
[Theme music plays.]
VOICEOVER: Untrue Stories: The Adventures of George Orwell and H. G. Wells was written by Robin Johnson, and starred Patrick Spragg as H. G. Wells, Robin Johnson as George Orwell, and Joanna Lawrie as Mrs Watchett. Sound effects were taken from freesound dot org, and made by the users inchadney, ccomics88, keithpeter, keweldog, sophielhall3535, fillsoko, anagar, panska-tlolkova-matilda, deleted-user-56114036, vpp-2015, hasean, juanfg and inspectorj. The music was by Robin Johnson. The programme was recorded in separate quarantine houses and edited using the free software Audacity.
[Theme music ends.]
Script by Robin Johnson (c) 2020-22. No reproduction without permission.