Scene One.
The Bull.
Landlord is putting another log in the wood burner.
He goes back behind the bar and is just about to pick up the racing paper when Bob the Farmer comes in, wearing a green boiler suit.
Landlord: Evenin’ Bob. Pint of Shires?
Bob: Aaarh.
Landlord (an Archers fan): ‘Coming up!’
Bob: Aaarh.
Landlord: Young Bob back from college for Christmas yet?
Bob: Aaarh.
Landlord: Alright Bob? You seem a bit glum.
Bob: Aaarh. (Pauses) He’m down from college wi’ a lot of bloody fancy environment nonsense. (Reaches into the lower part of his boiler suit for a good scratch). I mind when ‘Environment’ was just a word they put on tankers of waste and that. They used to dump it in the old quarry. It do still bubble and smoke a bit there sometimes even now. But at least you knew what you was dealin’ with. Now ‘ee d’come down from that blasted college and it’s environment this and ecology that and biosphere the other. Arf the time I don’t know what ‘ees on about.
Landlord: That’s youngsters, wanting to change everything…
Bob: That’s what bothers me. E’ll be takin over the farm before I d’know it. I mind what it was like before Dad died. We argued so much I was glad to see the back of the old bugger.
Landlord (pretending to blow his nose to hide a yawn): What did you argue about, Bob?
Bob: Same sort of thing, to be fair. I’d just got back from the war and I were rarin’ to go, see. War Ag man kep’ on comin’ round and it was nitrogen this and phosphate that. They were on about it on the Archers all the time too, food production this and improved grassland that. They wanted us to hire one o’ them airoplanes to spray the spuds too, but ‘ee wouldn’t ear of it at first. Aint natural, ‘ee kep’ on sayin’. Bugger natural, sez I, it’s modern. All the go.
Landlord (who has heard this before and is studying the racing paper under the cover of the bar counter): The old uns don’t like change Bob. You’ll be getting like that yourself just now...
Pause. Sound of tinkling Christmas tree
Landlord, just for something to say: Was your Dad a bit old fashioned, Bob?
Bob: Old fashioned? ‘Ee bloody cried when we sent ol’ Meg and Captain, our old shires, off to the glue boilers. I were all for getting a couple of new American Fordson tractors, but ‘ee said the farm din’t feel like ‘ome without the ‘orses. ‘Ee ‘ung on to our old broad wheel wagon ‘til it fell to bits.
Pause. Slurping sound and lip smacking. Sound of glass being put down.
Bob: War Ag man told us to get some of that artificial, an’ we spread it all over the Bonny Leasowe and the Oxpasture and the grass went a bright green. Dad ran some of it through his ‘ands and ‘ee said it made ‘em sting and it warn’t natural. We got some ‘ells of ‘ay off it though, but all the old bugger could say was that all the flowers ‘ad gone since we put the artificial on. But I don’t care what Dad said, farmin’s not the work it was. You got the big machines, and now you bung the sprays on before you ever ‘ave a problem, an’ keep the animals dosed up wi’ them growth promoters and pour-ons. I reckon us got it sorted. An’ now young Bob’s saying the growth promoters are antibiotics an’ we’re overusing them, and the pour ons an’ sprays are killin’ all the insects….
Mind’ you, Dad was a good farmer. Knew ‘ow to ‘edge and thatch and wot all the birds were called, and the flowers and that. I could never be bothered, back from the war, din’t care about bloody flowers. ‘Ee could graft too, to be fair, no one like ‘im for pitchin’ bales seven high onto the dray with one of them pikes. Used to have one o’ them around the place, but I ‘ent sin it lately.
No need for that now anyway. All them tractors and sprayers got the cushioned seat and the joysticks and you ‘ardly need to get out of the cab now. You got the radio and the mobile phone and the i-pad, ‘ardly like farmin’ at all. And now the quack’s telling me I ought to walk about the farm. Why would I want to do that?
Landlord: Isn’t that modern enough for young Bob then?
Bob: That’s the funny bit. ‘Ee starts sayin’ we got to farm wi’ nature, just when I thought we’d got on top of it. Summat called the biosphere. Buggered if I know what that is, but ‘ee wants to restore it. Didn’t ‘ave one o’ them when I were takin over. Them War Ag boys never talked about no biosphere. Were all sprays and bags of artificial, and drain-in’ the marsh an’ that. An’ wot the ‘ell’s ecology? Ee were askin’ me why there’s no fish in the brook. Search me I sez. Were black wi’ em last time I looked. That were forty year ago mind.
Bob exits towards the Gents.
Enter Other Bob. He’s dressed in a green boiler suit.
Landlord: Pint o Shires, Other Bob?
Other Bob: Aaarh.
Landlord: Coming up!
Other Bob: Needed that! My Bob’s ‘ad me lookin’ at some webinar about carbon farmin’. Thirsty work.
Landlord: Old Bob’s around here somewhere, don’t know if you’ve missed him.
Other Bob: I ‘ope so. Ee were botherin’ me about ‘is boy Bob summat rotten last time I sin ‘im. All that ecosummat ‘e’m on about.
Landlord: What about your youngster? Bob? He back for Christmas too?
Other Bob: Aye, that’s what I’m sayin’. My young Bob, went to fetch ‘im from college t’other day.
Landlord: Aah. (Polishes a glass or two).
Other Bob: Mind, ’ees a good boy. ‘Ee reckons you can make a lot o’ money out of all this carbon stuff. All the go, carbon, ‘ee do reckon. You got some developer an’ the planners say ‘ees buggerin’ up wildlife, they’ll pay us to do some wildlifin’ for em. We say we’ve got a patch of nature somewhere, if we can find any, and they pay us to be doin’ the naturin’ for em, and they can get on developing, and bugger the newts and the lizzards. An’ you can say you’m storing carbon on your land too and they’ll pay you for that, and you can get grants for this and grants for that. Offsettin’ ee do call it. My Bob, ees got is ‘ed screwed on. None of that environment malarkey.
Landlord: Will the Ministry check up on you?
Other Bob: Fat chance. We were letting slurry get into the brook an’ we got reported by that busybody from Yorkshire about 20 year ago and they rapped our knuckles, but they enna bin back since. I don’t reckon they’ve got the staff.
Bob comes back from the gents, wiping his hands on his boiler suit.
Bob: I got to go. See what that boy o’ mine’s up to. ‘E’ll be plantin’ up that old orchard of Dad’s I pushed out years ago when ‘ee were in the ‘ospital, else.
Bob finishes his pint and turns to go.
Bob: Merry Christmas, Other Bob!
Other Bob: Aye, Merry Christmas, Bob!
Landlord: Merry Christmas everyone!
And Merry Christmas to all our readers!
.
Very amusing Richard - I can picture the two Bob’s vividly! Merry Xmas to you and yours fella, keep fighting the good fight and keep up the writing, always enjoyable to read
Happy Christmas to you too Dan and thank you. (I'm starting to think that speaking through farmers like Bob is a pretty good wheeze, better than speaking at them!)