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In April 1917, a not particularly important but rather enjoyable thing happened: Wurzel-Flummery by A.A. Milne premiered in London. It was his very first play, had absolutely nothing to do with the bloody war going on, and started off a career that would establish him as one of the better-known playwrights of the time. And most importantly, it is very, very funny. During its initial run, the play was part of a trio of one act plays (the other two by Milne’s friend and advocate J.M. Barrie) for eight weeks and was well-reviewed “with words such as ‘witty’, ‘delightful’, and ‘brilliant’ freely used” (so Ann Thwaite tells us in her excellent biography of A.A.M.). Exactly so.
The concept of the play is fantastical and fun: two MPs, one old and pompous (Robert), one young and earnest (Dick), are approached with an incredible offer. A man unknown to either of them has left them each £50,000 in his will, the caveat being that they must change their respectable, well-known family names – names they have spent their careers trying to make known – to the absurd Wurzel-Flummery.
The way they approach the dilemma is typical of their characters. Dick, the younger, has been staying with Robert’s family and has fallen in love with Viola, the daughter of the house. Their engagement is a secret one as the play begins, largely because they are concerned how Robert will react. He is, as Viola reminds her fiancé, not terribly keen on the younger man:
VIOLA: He said that your intellectual arrogance was only equalled by your spiritual instability. I don’t quite know what it means, but it doesn’t sound the sort of thing you want in a son-in-law.
A man of principles and strong ideals, it is easy for Dick to reject the offer outright. He will not compromise his honour and make himself a laughing stock! However, bills must be paid and wives, his future one assures him, have a habit of running these up. Soon he starts to waver.
Robert, on the other hand, brazens through. He tries to convince himself it is a noble thing he is doing, fulfilling a dying man’s wishes and taking a good old (almost noble, really) English name – even when he’s bluntly told by the executor of the will that it is no such thing. He is a man who can convince himself of anything to preserve his dignity – a dignity that could be much better supported if he had an extra £50,000 in the bank.
It’s a quick, sparkling play and amazing assured for someone who was just starting as a playwright. And, delightfully, it includes one of the revealing character introductions invisible to the audience but which are to me such a characteristic element of A.A.M.’s style and always a pleasure to read:
Enter MARGARET. MARGARET has been in love with ROBERT CRAWSHAW for twenty-five years, the last twenty four years from habit. She is small, comfortable, and rather foolish; you would certainly call her a dear, but you might sometimes call her a poor dear.
