The Widow's Plot
or, She got what was coming to her,by William Plomer
Troubled was a house in Ealing Where a widow’s only son Found her fond maternal feeling Overdone. She was fussy and possessive; Lennie, in his teens, Found the atmosphere oppressive; There were scenes. Tiring one day of her strictures Len went down the street, Took a ticket at the pictures, Took his seat. The picture was designed to thrill But oh, the girl he sat beside! If proximity could kill He’d have died. Simple, sweet, sixteen and blonde, Unattached, her name was Bess. Well, boys, how would you respond? I can guess. Len and Bessie found each other All that either could desire, But the fat, when he told Mother, Was in the fire. The widow, who had always dreaded This might happen, hatched a scheme To smash, when they were duly wedded, Love’s young dream. One fine day she murmured, “Sonny, It’s not for me to interfere, You may think it rather funny But I hear “Bess goes out with other men.” “I don’t believe it! It’s a lie! Tell me who with, where, and when? Tell me why?” “Keep cool, Lennie. I suspected That the girl was far from nice. What a pity you rejected My advice.” Suspicion from this fatal seed Sprang up overnight And strangled like a poison weed, The lilies of delight. Still unbelieving, Len believed That Bess was being unchaste, And a man that feels himself deceived May act in haste. Now Bess was innocence incarnate And never thought of other men; She visited an aunt at Barnet Now and then, But mostly stayed at home and dusted, Crooning early, crooning late, Unaware of being distrusted By her mate. Then one day a wire was sent: MEET ME PALACEUM AT EIGHT URGENT AUNTIE. Bessie went To keep the date. Slightly anxious, Bessie came To the usual rendezvous. Desperate, Lennie did the same, He waited too, Seeing but unseen by Bessie, And in a minute seeing red – For a stranger, fat and dressy, A trilby on his head, In his tie a tasteful pearl, On his face a nasty leer, Sidled up towards the girl And called her “Dear.” At this juncture Len stepped in, Made a bee-line for the lout, With a straight left to the chin Knocked him out. He might have done the same for Bess Thinking still that she had tricked him, But she was gazing in distress At the victim. “It’s a her!” she cried (but grammar Never was her strongest suit): “She’s passed out!” he heard her stammer, “Lennie, scoot!” “It’s what? A her? Good God, it’s Mum! Ah, now I see! A wicked plan To make me think my Bess had come To meet a man – “ “Now what’s all this?” a copper said, Shoving the crowd aside. “I heard a Rumour somebody was dead. Is it murder?” Len quite candidly replied, “No, officer, it’s something less. It’s justifiable matricide, Isn’t it, Bess?”Back to home page
This page last updated 08/10/2007