Cold Comfort Farm Page #3

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He's after me again.

Go away!

[ Cackling ]

[ Knocking ]

Who's there?

Good morning. I'm so sorry to interrupt

you while you're busy writing letters.

Busy? Oh! Busy weavin'

me own shroud, be like.

You can do what you please round

the farm, Robert Poste's child,

if you don't break in

on me loneliness.

Give me time and I'll atone for

the wrong my man did your father.

Give us all time

and we'll atone.

I don't suppose you'd care

to tell me what the wrong was.

My lips are sealed,

Miss Poste.

Just as you like,

Cousin Judith.

Now, can we discuss my keep?

I have a hundred a year.

I wouldn't touch a single

penny of Robert Poste's money.

While you're here, you're

a guest of Cold Comfort.

Every middock will be

paid for by our sweat.

[ Woman Moaning ]

While I'm here, might I

make a few changes?

I adore my bedroom, but do you think

I could have my curtains washed?

I believe they're red, but

I should like to make sure.

Child, child, it's years

since such trifes...

broke across the web

of my solitude.

Perhaps Meriam could

wash them. [ Shrieking ]

- Oh, not now. Her time has come.

- She's in labor? Where?

- Is the doctor there?

- You leave her be.

Every year when the sukebind

flowers, it's the same thing.

Just the hand of nature.

We women can't escape it.

Of course we can!

Who's responsible?

Oh, cursed be the day

I brought him forth...

and the nourishment

he drew from my bosom.

Cursed be the wooing tongue

God gave him...

to bring disgrace

upon weak females.

Right. Well, if you'll

excuse me, Cousin Judith,

I have a few things

to attend to.

[ Groaning ]

Who's there?

Are you all right?

It's Miss Poste, from the

farm. What do you want?

May I come in?

Come to mock me

in my shame, mum?

I thought you were in

labor. I heard you cry out.

Had it last night.

I was just moaning a bit.

It's not so bad if you keep your

spirits up and eat hearty aforehand.

Is it your first?

'Tis my fourth.

And who knows what'll happen again

when the sukebind's out in the hedges.

Now look, Meriam, nothing need happen

so long as you use your intelligence...

and see it doesn't.

Haven't you heard of

family planning? No, mum.

You can prevent it. All you need's a little

rubber bowler hat to stop it happening again.

- The doctor can show you.

- What would I look like in a rubber bowler hat?

- You wear it inside, Meriam.

- Oh, no, mum. 'Tis fyin' against nature, that is.

Nonsense. Nature's

all very well in her place,

but she mustn't be allowed

to make things untidy.

Now remember, Meriam, no more

sukebind and summer evenings...

without a few preparations beforehand.

If you'll wash my bedroom

curtains for me, I'll pay you.

That can go towards buying whatever

it is your children have to eat.

Mornin', miss.

Hello, Mother. She wants me

to wash her bedroom curtains.

Who's "she"? The cat's mother?

You speak proper to the young lady.

Never thought I'd hear anyone

wanting washing done at Cold Comfort.

She'll wash 'em for

you, miss. Oh, how is he?

Fine.

They always does.

Well, you needn't sound as

if you wish they wouldn't.

Lord knows, none of'em was very

welcome, poor little innocents.

Still, now they're here, we might

as well look after 'em right.

Come another four years,

I'll start makin' use of'em.

How?

Train the four of'em up

for one of them jazz bands.

They get six pound a night

playin' up west in the nightclubs.

That's why we got to look

after 'em right. Yeah.

He's gonna be a trombone

player. Look at his mouth.

A telegram, madam.

Ooh, it must be

from Flora.

Oh, do read it,

Sneller.

"Worst fears realized.

Seth and Reuben too.

Everything needs changing.

Send magazines. "

Morning.

Morning.

Not so bad now, eh?

No.

Lunches, dear?

We do, but only in August.

Not always then. You can

have what we're havin'.

Got to cook my gentleman's dinner. Oh!

Oh, no, my dear. That's Mr.

Hawk-Monitor from up the Hall.

He's a real gentleman.

He don't eat here.

My gentleman's a Mr. Mybug

from London. He's a book writer.

Oh, not another.

There he is now.

Walks the High Weald all hours, he

does. Then comes in covered in mud.

[ Humming ]

Good day, all. Nice walk, Mr. Mybug?

I have freely wandered the ample

suckling breasts of the welcoming hills.

A pint of cider, if

you would, Mrs. Murther.

Ayoung lady

askin' after you.

Ha! Flora Poste,

isn't it?

May I sit down? We met at

the Polswetts in October.

Did we, Mr. Mybug?

Meyerburg. Don't you remember?

Harriet Belmont sat naked on the

grass and played to us on her fute.

Actually, the Polswetts said you were down

here. I rather hoped I would run into you.

Better go up and dry off,

hadn't you, Mr. Mybug?

Yes, yes. Dear me, I do seem somewhat

soaked in nature's fecund blessing.

I shall see you in a very few

moments, my dear Miss Poste.

But let me warn you.

I'm a queer, moody brute,

but there's rich soil in here

if you care to dig for it.

[ Singing ]

Mrs. Murther, I think I'll do without

lunch today after all. All right, dear.

Good - bye.

Hello.

I thought I'd introduce

the custom of afternoon tea.

Do you take milk?

I scranletted 200 furrow

come 3:
00 down in the bute.

Did you?

Aye.

Did too.

All the way from Ticklepenny

Corner to Nettle Flitch.

Could you 'a' done that?

No, indeed. I certainly

couldn't, Reuben.

But then, you see,

I shouldn't want to.

Take the farm,

pay hired men, I'd wager.

Waste all the takings. No, I wouldn't.

I wouldn't care if Ticklepenny

Corner wasn't scranletted at all.

I'd let you do it instead. Let? Let!

That's a fine word

to use to a man...

that's nursed this farm

like a sick mommet,

knows every inch of soil and

patch of sukebind in the place.

Let's get it straight, Reuben.

I don't want the farm.

I'm the last person in the world to

be any good at scranletting. Really.

I prefer to leave it to people

who know all about it. Like you.

[ Door Opening ]

What's that you're

makin'? A bath towel, Seth.

Would you like

some tea?

You women are all alike.

Fussin'over your fal - de -

lals to bedaze a man's eyes, eh?

And what you really want

is his blood,

his pride and the heart out ofhis body.

- Really?

- Aye.

and then when you got him, bound up in

your fal-de-lals and your softness...

and he can't move 'cause of the longin' that

cries in his blood, what do you do then, eh?

I'm afraid

I don't know, Seth.

Would you mind passing me that

reel of cotton on the dresser?

This what you're after?

Thank you.

You eats him.

Same as a hen spider

eats a cock spider.

But I don't let

no women eat me.

I eats them instead.

You don't understand what I'm

sayin', do you, little innocent?

Yes, and I think

it's dreadful.

What do you do in the evenings,

Seth? When you're not eating people.

- Go over Beershorn to the talkies.

- Oh, you like the talkies?

Better than anything

in the whole world.

Seventy-four photos

of Lottie Funchal.

Forty ofJennie Carroll.

Fifty - five, Laura Valley.

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