Owen Sheers: The Two Worlds of Charlie F

Where’s his weapon gone? That’s right, straight up into his grid. Broken jaw, fractured zygoma, bit of blast ear. Pressure injury to the lungs. Probably lose a few fingers too. What else are we forgetting? What’s here, biggest bone in the body? That’s right, his femur. Where’s that going? Smash, into his pelvis. Serious injury? You bet! Dislocated shoulder.

If he isn’t wearing his shades, sand, dirt and stones in his eyes.

He points to John’s genitals.

What’s going to happen to this bad boy? If he’s wearing his blast pants, hopefully nothing. If he’s not? The eyelets from his boots are going to fly up, penetrate his nut sack, sever his penis. It’s one of the first questions they’ll ask you. ‘Have I got my cock and balls?’ If he’s not wearing blast pants, you can tell him yes, but he’ll be pissing in six different directions for the rest of his life. Probably lost both arse cheeks too. So, respect those gone before you, the men whose injuries we’ve learnt from, and wear those fucking pants! Your missus and your future kids will thank you for it, believe me.

Right, that’s enough of you, John.

John takes a white towel and walks downstage, cleaning the marker pen from his body, turning the towel red.

RogerBullet wounds next! You’re out on patrol and the tree line’s opened up on you, like it does. Your mate’s gone down, small entry wound on the front, big exit wound in the back. You’ve got to pack that exit wound while still laying down rounds in the opposite direction. So what you going to do?

Roger’s voice fades away as John is isolated in a spot.

JohnHe’s right, you know. Some things don’t change. Weapons change. Battlefields change. Wars change. But there’s one thing that’s never changed.

He pats his own chest.

This. Fight with stones. Fight with swords. Fight with missiles. This is where the fight happens. This is where the speeches end. The resolutions. The column inches. This is where victory or defeat happens. The ultimatums. The politics. This is where war happens. Here. On the bodies of men. Boys. We try and take theirs apart. They try and take ours apart. It’s as simple as that.

He turns and walks upstage. The lights come up to reveal a FOB — temporary showers and toilets, sandbags, Hesco blocks. The heads of Ali and Roger can be seen above a screen in front of the toilets. As John passes them he turns to the audience again.

JohnThat’s something else that never changes. Bring the British squaddie to Afghanistan, nineteenth century, twenty-first century, and soon enough he’ll get the D an’ Vs. Always has. Always will.

John exits.

SCENE EIGHT — COMMS

Loud sounds of shitting. Ali ducks below the screen. The sound of him vomiting. He reappears.

AliFuck me, this D an’ V’s better than any F-plan. I’m telling you, Atkins ain’t got shit on Afghan.

RogerI know. My missus is going to be chuffed to fuck with the weight I’m dropping.

Darren enters with a sack of mail.

DarrenMail’s here, lads.

AliAh, at last! About fucking time too!

Other Soldiers begin to gather around Darren as he hands out the mail. Charlie wears his prosthetic so appears to have both legs intact.

DarrenAnderson … Briggs …

AliGet mine for me will you, mate?

DarrenTaylor … Ma’am … Baker … Booth …

As each soldier receives their bluey or package they drift to a more private place.

DarrenBooth … Booth … Booth.

Richard is given a pile of packages.

MarcAh, not again!

DaveYou’re crated, Booth. So crated.

MarcYou’re mother’s unbelievable. Like a fucking one-woman Red Cross.

DarrenSir … Smith … Fowler …

As the Soldiers open their bluies, the Letter Writers appear.

LaurenCharlie, I miss you so much –

MichelleHey babe! I hope you get this soon … never soon enough though, is it?

TracyDear Rich, a few more parcels for you. No chocolate this time, like you asked. But lots of Haribo and shower gel!

The Soldiers continue to read their bluies as the female Letter Writers sing:

Letter Writers( sung )

Hope you get this, hope you’re safe, hope everything’s all right. Miss you.

Everyone here is thinking of you, we’ve heard nothing on the news. Miss you.

Look after yourself, my love, and come home soon.

DaveWhen you’re in the FOBs most of the time bluies is all you get. Only once, maybe twice every two months. There’s one I’ll always remember. My daughter drew me a birthday cake. And my son, he’s got special needs see, but he managed to write his name. It might not sound like much, but I was crying. It chokes you up, it does.

RichardYou have to take yourself away, somewhere quiet. It’s amazing to get them, but then after you’ve read them, well, it’s bad too. It’s like a come-down. It makes you miss home, miss everyone there. You realise how long it’ll be before you see them again.

SimiFor three months I didn’t get any bluies. It took so long from Trinidad to England to Iraq. Every time the mail came, I’d just be waiting, feeling alone. The boys on camp even started writing to me, just so I’d have some mail! But then one day I saw a Trinidad and Tobago stamp. I couldn’t believe it. I almost screamed down the whole of the RHQ. Seeing their names, Mummy’s handwriting. I rub it all over my face, so it would stay with me. I even slept with it! Every time I turned over, I’d reach under my pillow to check it was there. Because it was a lifeline, that bluey. It really was. A lifeline home.

The Soldiers begin to write. As their recipients open their letters the Soldiers sing.

Soldiers( sung )

Please don’t worry, I’m with a good bunch of lads.

And, you know, we look out for each other.

Send my love to Mum and Dad.

I don’t know when I’ll call again.

All my love, all my love.

TracyI saw Mr Roberts yesterday. Your old Geography teacher? He said everyone at school is so proud of you.

ChrisAlright, Big Rog! Chris here. Bet you weren’t expecting this. Send my best to the lads and let them know I’m doing fine — there are more nurses here at the QE than I know what to do with!

MichellePS. Sent you a special treat — just so you don’t forget what’s waiting for you back home. But keep this one to yourself!

Rob( friend of Marc ) Take it easy, Marco, you big numpty, don’t get shot and let me know when you’ll be back on R and R. We’ll have a blast (ha ha), I’ve got the ladeez lined up and waiting for you …

LaurenI found a box of matches in my old handbag yesterday. They were from that seafood place you took me on our third date. Do you remember what you wrote on them? I cried so much when I saw them again. But don’t worry darling, I’m fine. I just miss you a ton.

RichardDear Mum, thanks for the packages. Hope everything’s OK back home. Not much to report from here. Same shit, different days. Still hot as hell.

RogerChris mate! All the lads say you’re a jack bastard for pissing off early. Jonesy reckons you knew it was there but stepped on it anyway so you could dodge the rest of the tour. Mind you, can’t blame you — those QE Nurses sound worth it!