Monologue - The Jacket

A Monologue - 'The Jacket'

In bedroom

I've always worked right from the age of 15. My father was real proud
when I brought home my first pay packet. Bursting to the seams with
notes it was, a mighty proud day. He didn't think I was capable of
holding down a job, let alone a job in a factory. Hard graft in a
factory he used to say. He should know he was a grafter. The man
staring back from me mirror doesn't bear any resemblance to the lad my
father ruffled the hair of when I got my first bonus. "That's my boy!"
he would say. Arrr the jacket! Fluroscent pink and navy blue stripes,
big bronze chinzy buttons.

Looks to open wardrobe and sees jacket hanging there.

Why he liked this thing I'll never know, only bleedin' thing left that
was worth havin' after he died, bailiffs took the rest. Silly sod not
paying his bills. Mam would never have stood for it, pity she had to go
an' leave him. Well she never did like doctors, by the time Da pushed
her to go it was too late. The disease had spread too far thro' her
body. She didn't last long after that.

It still feels like new.

Slips jacket on and feels arms. Chuckles to self.

I always did feel pretty damn good in it whenever I used to sneak into
their room and try it on. The arms always flopped over my hands but the
fabric was always soft enough to fold up the sleeves. Now the sleeves
aren't long enough.

Back in Bedroom after returning from Jobcentre.

Bloody kids telling me what to do, "Mr Jones you have to demonstrate
you are actively seeking employment or your benefits may be suspended."
Have you any interviews lined up he said. I sat there shaking my head
like I'd just been told off by the teacher. Its not like I sit on my
arse all day waiting for a job to fall in my lap. Everyday I read those
damn papers, in between getting the Mrs Dotteridge's shopping and doing
abit of gardening for Mr Legg, I write letter after bloody letter. I
wrote to the Council asking them to come and shift all that crap at the
end of the street. Haven't had a reply yet. It aint my fault no one
wants a 58 year old factory worker, al they want is kids. I didn't hear
him telling the kid at the side of me to get a job. Probably claiming
god knows what for his smack.

Takes Jacket off

Well I told 'em, bloody stuff their money. I threw the book back at him
and stormed out. Telling me I should go and work as a bloody trolley
pusher. Mind I was tempted to go for the overall, I seen those jackets
at the supermarket, very smart. You even get a name badge. 'Derek
Jones' I could just see it now. Oh Da?I just couldn't keep up the
standard you set. I never told him I lost my job before he gave up the
will to live. It would have crushed him. When he said 'Son, I'm so
proud of you.' it nearly choked me. I had to do everything I could to
stop myself from crying like a baby. He was always a worker you see, he
wasn't afraid of getting his hands dirty. When he got laid off it
killed him, literally, he just gave up.

At Cemetry

Kneels in front of grave stone dressed smartly with jacket neatly
folded in his arms.

Bloody animals the lot of 'em. They no respect for those who have
passed on. Used to come every week, wipe as best I could the graffiti
from the head stones, pick up the rubbish. We'll never beat 'em, after
a while you just stop trying. Oh Da..Mam...God rest your souls?forgive
me. I can't carry on anymore, I'm getting old. Times I went without
work took up all me savings, too young to get a pension, what pittance
it is.?.I've no where to go?no-one to go to?the world is changing so
much and I just can't keep up with it.

Looks down at Jacket and smirks

He used to wear this jacket to court the 'chicks' Da said. He used to
wear it on his dates with Mam, he wore once to meet her down on the
grass banks. They ended up staying out there til it got dark, Ma said
it took her ages to get the grass stain out.. Her parents were furious,
they hated Da, never spoke to him after they got married, or her for
that matter. She always hated the jacket but Da loved it and she loved
him so it stayed.