Cold Comfort Farm Page #4

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All signed ones.

That's where I'm goin' now.

D'you want to come?

They're showin' 'Street Sinners'.

I saw it in London, actually.

Thank you, Seth. You'll enjoy it.

Women.

You'll be glad to know my campaign

for tidying up Cold Comfort Farm...

is going rather well.

"I've already begun

to soften the dour Reuben,

and I think I've discovered the real

nature of Seth's grand passion. "

Ahem. "I've started teaching the hired girl the precautionary arts

Very good. "All part of my mission...

"to drag them

into the modern world,

"and I'm also getting

my bedroom curtains washed,

"but I still have to meet

Aunt Ada Doom,

"and I have no idea what

wrong was done to Papa.

Please send

this month's Vogue. "

[ Thinking ] From the stubborn

interwoven strata of his unconscious,

thought seeped up

into his dim...

conscious,

not as an integral part

of that consciousness,

but rather as

an impalpable emanation...

from the unsleeping life of

the nature that surrounded him.

The golden orb-

Oh, dear.

[ Chickens Clucking ] Amos!

Where you going?

Preachin'. At Beershorn.

At the Church

of the Quiverin' Brethren.

They'll all burn in hell, and

someone's gotta tell them so.

May I come with you? Think you'll

escape from the fires of hell...

if you come along with me

and bow down and quiver?

'Tis too late, young lady.

You'll burn with the rest.

Well, I should like

to see it, even so.

Why are they called

"Quivering Brethren"?

Why? Because they quiver

when they prepare for torment.

[ Cow Bellowing ]

Do you prepare your sermons

beforehand or does it just come?

Word is never prepared. It falls

on me mind like manna from heaven.

Really?

How interesting.

Then you have no idea what you're

going to say before you get there?

Aye. I always know it'll

be summat about burnin'.

And does anyone else preach,

or are you the only one?

Only me.

[ Bell Ringing ]

Deborah Checkbottom, she tried onceways

to get up and preach, but she couldn't.

The Lord weren't in her.

[ Congregation ] Whate'er

shall we do O Lord

When Gabriel blows

o'er sea and river

Fen and desert

mount and ford

The earth will burn

but we will quiver

Whatever shall we do

O Lord

When crops do fail

and blossoms wither

God's great wrath

be not ignored

The earth may fail

but we will quiver

Amen

Ye miserable,

crawlin'worms.

Are ye here again then?

[ Congregation ] Aye.

Have ye come like Nimshi,

son of Rehoboam,

secretly out of

your doomed houses,

to hear what's

comin' to ye?

[ All ] Aye. Have ye

come, old and young,

sick and well,

matrons and virgins-

if there be any virgins amongst

you, which is not likely,

the world being in the

wicked state that it is.

Aye. Have ye come to hear me tell ye...

of the great crimson,

licking fames of hell fire?

[ All ] Aye! Aye!

You've come,

dozens of ye,

like rats to the granary, like

field mice when there's harvest home.

And what good

will it do ye?

You're all damned!

- [ Congregation Shuddering ]

- [ Amos ] Damned!

Do you ever stop to think

what that word means?

[ Congregation ] No-o-o-o.

No,you don't. It means...

endless, horrifying torment.

It means your poor, sinful bodies

stretched out on red-hot gridirons...

in the nethermost

fiery pit of hell...

and those demons mocking ye while

they waves cooling jellies...

in front of ye.

You know what it's like

when you burn your hand...

takin' a cake

out of the oven...

or lighting one of them

Godless cigarettes?

And it stings with

a fearful pain. Aye?

And you run to clap a bit of butter

on it to take the pain away, aye?

Aye.

Well, I'll tell ye.

- There'll be no butter in hell!

- No!

And your body will be burnin'and

stingin' with that terrible pain!

And your blackened tongue will

be stickin' out of your mouth,

and your parched lips

will be cryin'out for-

[ Sermon Continues,

Indistinct ]

Cakes and an orange with

sugar on it. Thank you.

Ah, Miss Poste!

May I join you?

Mr. Mybug. I suppose so. Meyerburg.

I'll have what she's having,

please. Very well, sir.

I do love eating

with a spoon, don't you?

Now, Miss Poste, perhaps you can help

me on a matter that's been troubling me.

Do you believe

that women have souls?

I'm afraid I'm not

very interested. Quite.

I do so agree. Bodies matter so much

more than souls, don't you think?

Or are you, alas, like so many young

Englishwomen, a prisoner of outdated inhibitions?

Do you know what D.H. Lawrence

said? I do, actually, yes.

He said there must always be a

dark, dumb, bitter belly tension...

between the living man

and the living woman.

Mr. Mybug, do tell me about

the book you're writing. Ah.

Excuse me, sir. Well

- Thank you.

Thank you, sir.

I intend to prove...

that Branwell Bronte

wrote Wuthering Heights...

and 'Jane Eyre' and

The Tenant of Wildfell Hall.

A work of fiction,

is it?

Yes, well, that's enough about me. Tell

me, Miss Poste, do you care about walking?

What about it? I thought we might

take some nature walks together,

go on discussing

art and literature like this.

But I'd better warn you.

I'm pretty susceptible.

Well, then, perhaps we should postpone

the walks until the weather's finer.

It would be too bad if your book was

held up because you'd caught a cold.

I'm talking about sex, Miss Poste! Yes.

You see, I believe in utter frankness...

about sexual things.

Aye, ye fornicators.

Fornicators!

[ Stammering ] No, I assure you,

Miss Poste and I are just old friends.

- We met in London.

- Oh, aye, the devil's city.

The stinkin' pit of whoredom.

Come on, young lady.

It's back to Cold Comfort

for you!

Ye'll fritter and fry. Ye didn't

even stay to hear the Lord's Word.

I was overwhelmed, Cousin.

You're such a powerful preacher.

Aye, the Word

burns in me mouth,

and I must blow it on the

whole world like fames.

You ought to do it more widely,

Cousin Amos. What do ye mean?

You shouldn't waste it on a few

miserable sinners in Beershorn.

You could go round the country in

a Ford van preaching on market days.

'Twould be exalting meself

and puffin' meself up...

if I went around

in one of they vans.

Thinkin' of my glory

'stead of the Lord's.

You could save thousands of

souls. That's how I'd look at it...

if I were going round

the country in a Ford van.

What kind of Ford van?

Has she been askin' about me, Robert

Poste's child? What does she want?

She's been here more than a week.

She keeps askin' to see you, Mother.

Couldn't you come down

just once and talk to her?

You know I never come down except for the

countin', not after what happened to me.

She's Robert Poste's child.

She has her rights.

Saw something nasty

in the woodshed.

I never spoke of it,

not even to Mama.

But I've always remembered it every day

of my life. It's made me the way I am.

Yes, Mother. It's the

farm she wants, isn't it?

She's your sister's grandchild. She's owed

- She's owed nothin:

She should never have come here.

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