by John Glover
click here for cast list

Episode 5: "Split Feather Farm" (May 18th 10:00am)

Clunch Parsons and Hummer Thompson sat in the sunshine enjoying a smoke and waited for the Police to arrive. As with a lot of the farming community they were accustomed to death and after the initial shock seemed to be taking it quite calmly. Reg Dixon's body lay in the same position as they had discovered it, an hour earlier. The pitchfork was sticking straight up towards the clear blue sky. It was now a gorgeous sunny spring morning. The wind that had caused the Fen to blow up earlier had receded to nothing more than a light breeze. "A bloody rum do, I reckon" said Clunch. "What do you think Hummer ?". Hummer fixed his gaze on Dixon's damaged body. He pulled a grimy handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow before blowing his nose violently. This was as close to an outward show of emotion as he was likely to get. Reg Dixon had always had time for Hummer. Whereas the locals had treated him like the village idiot, Reg had backed him up in many a pub argument and seen some of the wisdom in his childish, yet often astute, philospophy. However, Hummer wasn't able to express those thoughts, as he hadn't the vocabulary. "Thas my buggering jacket ees got on. Lent it to 'im yisty. Bugger said eed lend it back today. Now's got bloody 'ole in it. Thas a bloody pitchfork !" Clunch grinned. He knew what Hummer thought of Dixon really. "Never mind Hum. We'll get the sod what done this. You can bet your life on that. Thas a fact. Safe as a church tied to a hedge". Just then the two men heard the sound of gravel being skidded on at a higher speed than was necessary for a Fenland Drove. Clunch looked over his shoulder and remarked gravely, "That'll be the Constabulary".

Yaxley Farcett leant his arms against the roof of his car and took in the scene. He still found it hard to take in. Only four days previously he had been a Detective Constable with a career ahead of him. Now he was a Police Constable in a remote arm of the Police Force. His chief in Bradford had explained that it wasn’t exactly a demotion, it was er..er..er a change, brought about by Yaxley’s decision to enjoy something other than the usual Pot Noodle that most officer’s had on the night shift. He wasn’t impressed when they told him his new job title was ’Drainage Inspector’. He had been busted back to a PC and he knew it. He felt like that chap with the cleft chin in the old cowboy series ’Branded’ - ‘what do you do when you’re branded and you know you’re a man ?’ Obviously, you did whatever the boss said and high-tailed it to the Fens. Not a bad comparison, thought Yaxley. Just a turn of the head to take in the scene showed that it would be no surprise if tumbleweed started to blow down the Drove toward him. To his left there were fields, to his right, more fields. Being early spring, there was nothing but ploughed fields in view. All of the same perfect black, caressed, by the fingers of the plough. In front of him, breaking the skyline, was an old signal box. The Kings Lynn to Cambridge line bisected Cauliflower Drove half-way down and the road was closed to the tractors and old vans that travelled back and forth during the day. Strangely though, the box was painted in a kaleidescope of colours and was festooned with plants and hanging baskets marking a stark contrast to the singular colour of the fields. Yaxley had heard about the 'otherness' of Fen people since he had told his friends about his transfer to the area. He wasn't sure what to expect. "Hey Ho..Let's go" he said to himself and set off down the driveway of "Split Feather Farm", owned, he had been informed, by the Worthington family.