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Life at Brookfield
by Mr Snowy
 Here's a clever blend of two hit Â鶹ԼĹÄ series, from the Fantasy Archers topic of .
Sam Batton stood on the roof of the skyscraper building that was the home to Paxley Global Services. How he had longed to be back there with everything he held dear to himself. Getting back had been the only thing that had kept him going as the weeks had turned into months and the months into years. But now that he was, he felt like a stranger. How had it all changed? He was confused, rudderless, sick at heart.
Brookfield! That was the nub of the puzzle. He could not get it off his mind. Last night he had dreamt he was at Brookfield again. Ah yes, he remembered it well.
***
As he walked into the farmyard, it was all familiar and yet strangely different. Seedier and greyer than the Brookfield he knew. The yard was full of people but he didn't recognise any of them. Where was all the technology with which he was so familiar? It all seemed so dated but it was still Brookfield.
An elderly man walked slowly up to Sam; there was straw behind his ears. "Here you must be that Batton chap" Sam nodded. "You've been brought in from Paxley Milking Services, haven't you. Can't think why - we know how to run a farm already. Been doing it for generations"
Sam's mind reeled but he could say nothing. He stood there with his eyes rolling, his mouth open and with a pained expression vaguely suggesting constipation.
The elderly man continued his monologue. "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue? Where have you been working? What would you like to do first?"
Sam's mind continued to reel. Where the hell was he? "I'd ……er……I'd………"
"You're from Hyde? Never heard of it. Where is it"
Before Sam could answer, a large man burst out of the farm office and bellowed out "All right, you bunch of Jessies. I've just had word that the lower pastures have been hit by insects. You know I don't allow scum like that in my parish. Let's get out there and zap the little swines"
***
"My name is Sam Batton. I had an accident and I woke up in 2004. Am I mad, in a coma or back in time?"
***
Sam sat slumped in the hovel that they told him would be his new home. The décor looked as though it was unchanged for 30 years. Instead of a BENTINCK™ (* Basic ENTertainment & INtegrated Communications Kit) it still had a TV - a crappy old high-definition digital model with only 50 channels and, ye gods, a separate video recorder. The place was filthy - those surfaces that were not covered in dust were covered in grease. It was months before Sam realised that there was nothing personal in this - it was just that the word "housekeeping" was missing from the Brookfield dictionary.
He looked at the newspaper, today's newspaper, 20 June 2004. Had he really got back over 30 years in time? Was he dreaming? Was he mad?
He looked at the lead story in the paper. It was about the Prime Minister, Tony Blair. Oh yes, Sam recalled, that was how the Duke of Blairshire used to be known. He thought for a moment about the octogenarian patriarch of Belmarsh. When they rumbled him, they certainly threw away the key. Incarceration, incarceration, incarceration.
***
Slowly Sam developed some sort of routine at Brookfield. He couldn't regard it as home but there were some pleasures.
"The Boss" as everyone called him; Dave Archer. Sam didn't think he was actually that bad a farmer. It was just that with him everything came to gut instinct. There was no science, no method. Sam nearly died laughing when he heard about the shenanigans at Brookfield during the foot and mouth scare of '01. It was typical Dave; Rambo man protecting his own.
The farm office was feudal. He had to admit that Dave knew how to switch on the PC but that was about it. When Sam tried to explain the platemeter that he had so conveniently found in his pocket, well Dave looked at it as if it had come from Mars. Sam would never forget the day when he showed Dave his Fertilisation Lifeform in Solid State. Dave had just snorked loudly and then added cryptically "You randy bugger, Batton" The man knew nothing about bovine genetics.
Still at least Dave humoured him and let him try his little experiments. No, technology wasn't the real problem with Dave. Sam was never sure that he was the straightforward bluff farmer he pretended to be. There was a vague whiff of corruption about him. It was the way he always seemed to watch his back and mutter things about the Family. Why it was six months before Sam realised that Dave's father name was Phil and not Don.
It had all come to a head over the welfare of the herd. It was obvious to Sam that they needed a specialist vet; that was the modern way. They just had to get rid of that old bumbler, Al Lloyd. But no matter how many times he explained it, Dave just would not agree. Again he muttered about the Family. "But you've got to do what's right for the farm. You have a duty stand up to them". Dave then became nearly incoherent, saying that someone had once tried it. "Look what happened to Jethro Larkin. And, as for Cameron Frazer, he sleepa wid da fishes". Lloyd himself became aggressive. At one point he had told Sam that he lived at the Stables so a horse's head wouldn't be a problem.
But when push came to shove, Dave knew what he had to do and he sent Lloyd packing. "I'll be back" said Lloyd. "Do you want to bet on it" said Dave, sniggering for no apparent reason, and he took Sam off to the Bull
***
The toaster suddenly started to glow. Then it crackled. Finally it spoke. "Sam? Are you there, Sam?" (Well, the talking toaster worked all right on Red Dwarf!!)
Sam Batton woke instantly and sat bolt upright in bed. "Fliss? Is that you Fliss?"
For a moment he was back in the 2030s, snuggling up to Fliss, the love of his life. What a girl! Those pneumatic breasts, never a hair out of place. And so practical too; she always carried a puncture repair kit.
If only he could have been sure that he was the love of her life too. It was those damned yoga classes that were the problem. She revelled in them; why she even seemed to put them before him. "Oh you are silly, Sam" she would say "Don't you love how flexible yoga makes me"
"Sam! It's me, Fliss" ("Yes, Fliss, I can hear you") "I don't know how long I can keep coming here. Give me a sign, Sam, give me a sign that you're coming back. Otherwise, I shall have to leave you and move on" ("Don't go, Fliss, I'm here. Don't go")
The toaster clicked and up shot two perfect crumpets.
***
Sam was never quite sure how he became an item with Kirsty. Perhaps he was feeling down after the message from Fliss. Perhaps he should have been more alert. He knew that Kirsty was on the pull after she had been so unceremoniously dumped by that ne'er-do-well upstart from the Family (aka the Pinstripe Kid). But that night in the Bull Sam hadn't seen her heading in his direction (at the time he was engaged in a discussion on the meaning of life with the Rastafarian philosopher and publican, Sid Perks). Sam was male and unattached; he would do for Kirsty.
It wasn't that she was so unattractive. Well not in a dragged-through-a-hedge-backwards, clothes-always-a-year-out-of-fashion, voice-like-a-sack-of-rusty-spanners sort of way. And so, rather than run for his life, Sam just tagged along for a while provided that she didn't get in the way of the work.
He liked to think that he treated her well. Treating women well came naturally to men of the 2030s. Even the so-called New Men of Ambridge (like the vicar) were pretty Neanderthal by comparison and goodness only knew what poor Freda Fry must have gone through. But it soon became obvious that Kirsty wanted more; she had designs on his body. "What do I do?" Sam asked himself. "She hasn't lived through the Moral Revolution of the 2020s." She certainly didn't know how repressed Sam and his generation were as a result. Quite simply, they didn't do sleeping around.
But Kirsty was a woman on a mission and that mission meant muscling in on Sam's life body and soul. Eventually she wore him down and he gave in. His moral code was shattered. Somehow he knew that, if he was going to pull through this and get back to his own time, he had to break away from Kirsty. So he truly embraced 2006 and did what any red-blooded male would do. He took her to a classy restaurant, filled her full of Tom Archer sausages and gave her the old heave-ho.
Kirsty was devastated and she soon dropped off the Ambridge radar. But several months later he had an e-mail from her:
Dear Sam (it went)
That was a pretty lousy stunt you pulled on me. There I was thinking that you were going to declare your undying love for me and you dumped me, you swine. I hurt so much and I wanted to hurt you back. I knew how to do it too but now, when things are going better in my life, I can't go through with it.
There are two things you need to know.
The first is that I am getting married and then we are both leaving Borsetshire and we are have been offered jobs up north. You don't know Andy, even though he is a farmer. He is a good man (I'll tell you how good in a moment) and I am looking becoming Mrs Sugden
"Kirsty Sugden!!," thought Sam. "She's Fliss's mother" He read on.
My second piece of news is that I am pregnant. The baby is due next February. Andy knows she's not his (the scans have confirmed that the baby is a girl) but he says he doesn't care. He wants to look after us both. I told you he was a good man.
"February 2007" mused Sam. Then his blood ran cold. "Fliss!?!?!"
***
A lightning bolt flashed over the bungalow and Farming Today disappeared from the radio. Then there was the honeyed voice. "Sam. The operation can go live now. You know why you're there. You've just got to do your bit and you can come home."
Sam was mystified. He hadn't a clue about this operation or what he had to do to get home. He needed to think about that. Suddenly he knew; he had to talk to Ruthie.
When Sam first saw Ruthie she was still in uniform. It was the regulation unleaded-fuel-green overalls and wellies that all menial diary workers seemed to wear.
Actually, with an unreconstructed husband like Dave, it was a wonder she got to do any farm work at all. Given half a chance, Dave would have kept her in the kitchen. Instead he gave her all the most mundane jobs to do whilst he and Bert drove round on tractors like US marshals rounding up rustlers.
Given this lowly role assigned to Ruthie, Sam had quite a shock when he learned that she had a degree in agriculture. "Why you're better qualified than any of them," he told her. Well apparently Dave had some sort of certificate but he'd heard Dave talking about his student days; three alcohol-fuelled years and then the Family fixed the exams with the Principal. As for Bert, all he seemed to have was a City and Guilds in doggerel. "No, Ruthie," he told her. "We really must find a way of using you better. Modern farm management is all about releasing the potential and creativity of the workforce." Even as he said it he had this mental picture of Dave answering "Creativity my backside, Batton!!"
And so Ruthie and Sam started seeing more of each other. Sam would talk about how the farm might be, if only Dave would give him free rein. He talked about technology and clover counts and Sam sensed a kindred spirit. Perhaps she could help him rise above the "Little Ambridge" culture that prevailed at Brookfield. And she seemed to be fascinated by his equipment.
And so, over time, they grew closer. Ruthie would bring meals over to the bungalow for Sam to try. "My word, this is good, Ruthie. The sauce, the herbs, the garlic - it's just too wonderful. But Dave keeps telling me what a rotten cook you are!" Ruth told him that she had trained at Cordon Bleu ("Heston's always ringing up to pick my brains") but Dave's palate couldn't cope with it. "Poor lamb," she said, "it's all the casseroles and jam that his mother forced on him as a child. He only does bland. He thinks a takeaway pizza is the ultimate in sophistication, so I humour him"
Sam grew conscious of Ruthie as a woman too and he suspected that she had feelings for him. The penny dropped one day when Dave burst into the cowshed. "You two! Stop standing around like a pair of chocolate bobbies. Those 4x4 drivers are at it again on the bridleway. You're supposed to be the clever clogs around here; let's have some bright ideas for sticking it up them" "Sam and I could go under cover!!" replied Ruthie, smiling at Sam lasciviously and poking her elbow into his ribs.
But Sam found it difficult to respond. Kirsty had dented his faith in the Moral Revolution but he couldn't just throw off all the repression. Was he even reading the signs properly. "Out of all the cowsheds on all the farms in all the world, she had to walk into mine" he thought.
Sam knew straight away that Ruthie was upset. A few discreet questions and he got her to talk about it.
“You know that we went to that party last night. Well we met this woman, Sophie Barlow – Dave used to be engaged to her. It was pretty obvious he’s still smitten with her”
“You must be wrong, Ruthie. I’ve heard people talk about Sophie. She sounds an absolute dipstick. She’d have been no good for Dave. She couldn’t have done anything like what you do to make Brookfield such a success.” Sam struggled to continue “You and Dave are so good together; you’re really solid”
“That’s what I thought but she’s changed. Not only was she was beautiful but she was smart and witty too. She’s running her own fashion empire. Dave was hanging on her every word; I could have been in Casablanca for all he cared”
Poor Ruthie, thought Sam. He tried to cheer her up and restore her spirit. A few days later that fragile confidence was broken again.
“Guess what he’s done now. He’s only gone and invited her to dinner. Oh no; what am I going to do”
“But, Ruthie, you know you’re a wonderful cook. Just give her a stunning meal and show her what an asset you are”
“Oh, it won’t work, Sam, he’s invited his parents too. If I dazzle them, Jill will realise that I’ve been conning her for years and then there’ll be no more casseroles. Poor Dave would miss them so much. I couldn’t do that to him”
“OK then, here’s the plan. First you need to invite a friend round. What about Usha? You can tell them how much help she gave you”
“No it won’t work. They’ve already had problems with too many characters for that episode. For some weird reason he’s invited Shula but V put the block on Alistair coming too”
“Easily solved. I’ll just make myself scarce that evening. I’ll just go off and practice my pained expressions. Secondly, you cook a good quality plain meal. You can do it”
“I think that Jill would still probably smell a rat”
“What about this? Make one real gaffe, call in Jill to save the day and hey presto! Why not parboil the roasties and then forget to put them in the oven?”
Ruth threw her arms around Sam and kissed him. “You’re a genius, Sam” And then realising what she had done, she pulled away, all embarrassment.
“Erm. Erm.” (sotto voce) “I didn’t realise you knew so much about cooking, Sam” (“Standard training for men of the 30s” thought Sam)
“You’re not like other men, are you”
“You might choose to think that but never, never ever, say it in front of Sid”
***
Sam woke up in an instant. There was a low buzz in the room.
It was the TV playing to itself. But all that was on it was a still photo of a woman stressed entirely in black. Then something started flashing at the bottom. It was the number 15000. What could it all mean?, Sam asked himself.
***
Despite the success of the dinner party plan, it was obvious that Dave was up to something with Sophie. He claimed it was all to do with a working party on rural crime but this didn’t sit too well with his badger-killer persona. Ruthie’s mood deepened and she spend more and more time with Sam talking about her worries.
For all the time that Sam and Ruthie spent closeted together discussing Sophie, it was some weeks before Sam actually met her. Dave brought into the yard one day and introduced her (just a shade furtively). Sam had heard that she was the most beautiful woman ever to visit Brookfield; he saw it was an understatement.
“Hello, Sam, Dave’s told me so much about you and I’ve simply been dying to meet you” . The tones were purest honey and Sam recognised them straight away. When Bert barged in and buttonholed Dave, Sophie steered Sam to one side and said “Yes, Sam, it is me. You know how I’m relying on you to complete your mission. It’s the only way you can go home”
Sam looked blank.
“Oh you are a silly boy, aren’t you. You know that I …….I mean WE have been hunting him down for years. Well this is the big chance to bring in him. It’s what you were sent here for. Oh I’m just aching my handcuffs on him” And a strange, tormented look passed over her face. “Anyway, if I’m to get my man, you know what you must do”
“Tell me, Sophie, what kind of a man do you think Dave is?”
“Oh he’s just like any other man………………….. only more so!”
Sam had to talk to Ruthie. They met up in the cowshed. “You’re right, Ruthie. There’s definitely something going on between those two”
Ruthie gulped, sobbed and threw herself into Sam’s arms. Despite all his Moral Revolution training, he kissed her.
Over Ruthie’s shoulder he could see Sophie lurking. She sang softly “You must remember this; a kiss is just a kiss” Sam sighed. “A sigh is just a sigh,” continued Sophie. “You must betray Dave properly. Then I’ll get him”
“Ooooh, Sam” said Ruthie and added with mock coyness “I never knew you cared”
Sam couldn’t help himself. The bottleneck of repressed emotions from his time at Brookfield shattered. He poured out his love for Ruthie. She obviously loved him too but something held her back. She and Dave had been happy together for all his chauvinist faults, at least until Sophie came back. There was the life they had built together. There were the millions that Brookfield was worth when Sam was clearly a pauper – just look at the state of the bungalow. Most of all there were the kids.
“Oh, Ruthie, it doesn't take much to see that the problems of three little people don't amount to a Tom Archer sausage in this crazy world. Someday you'll understand that. Spend the night with me, Ruthie.” She pulled back in hesitation, uncertain what to do. “Come to the bungalow. Will I see you tonight?”
“Oh, Sam, I never make plans that far ahead. I wish I didn’t love you so much.”
***
The Bungalow: later that evening. Sam was studying a tourist guide to Oxford. On the radio some folky, dumpty dum music was playing. The door bell rang; Sam opened it to find Ruthie outside. She hugged him.
“Oh Ruthie. You came” (“Not yet, she thought, but hopefully........) Ruthie, I love you you. I want to take care of you for ever” (or, he thought, at least until I get back to my own time)
“Oh say it again, Sam”
“Yes, Sam. You said it to her; now say it to me” Sam and Ruth turned around and saw the large, threatening figure of Dave appear out of the darkness.
“What’s all this then; the start of a beautiful friendship, eh? You know, Batton, I have many a friend in Ambridge, but somehow, just because you despised me, you were the only one I trusted. You can be a total pain in the butt but you are a good farmer. That’s why I let you stay.”
“I thought that it was because I let you win at darts”
“That is another reason. But now this, you and Ruthie, you’ve betrayed me, Sam”
Sam saw Sophie in the darkness, smiling, and then he found himself fading away.
And then he heard the honeyed voice and his eyes opened. “Good morning, Sam, welcome back. I’m Ms Barlow, your brain surgeon”
***
Sam looked over the parapet of the Paxley Building. It was no good; he could not settle back into 2037. He knew what he had to do. One last look at the sky; a deep breath. Then he ran towards the opposite parapet and leapt into the void beyond.
And there he was, back again at Brookfield.
David and Ruth both heard the sound at the same time. They looked up and, almost involuntarily, they spoke in unison: “Sam??? You’re back?”
***
This is a box, a magical box, playing a magical tune
But inside in this box there lies a surprise.
Do you know who’s in it today?
(Three figures rise from the box)
It’s Pip, Josh and Ben Archer. Hello, kids.
(Josh and Ben wave; how uncool is that, thinks Pip)
How are you today?
(They all bury their head in their hands, even Pip, no matter how uncool it might be)
Oh dear! Not very happy!
(They shake their heads)
Is it Dad?
(Wild hysteria breaks out)
Has he finally snapped?
(Cut to model of Dave loading his shotgun. Sam’s face is just visible looking out through the treehouse window. Dave fires over and over, whilst model of Ruthie stamps its foot)
Dad’s just making out his report now. He hasn't quite decided yet whether Sam committed suicide or died trying to escape. Not to worry, the Archer’s defence lawyer will soon sort it out. Here’s looking at you, kids!!
(Fade in Dooley Wilson singing at the piano. “The world will always welcome lovers….”)
More parodies - from Agatha Christie to Damon Runyon
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