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: You're lookin' a bit down in the mouth, Mr Barrowclough, anything the matter? Mr Barrowclough
: Oh, nothing much. The usual. Domestic crisis. Fletcher
: Oh dear. Mrs Barrowclough left you, has she? Mr Barrowclough
: Unhappily... no Fletcher.
: Success? Let me tell you about success. I had a pal, come to London 28 years ago without two ha'pennies to rub together. Now he managed to save up enough to buy a little hand cart and he went round collecting all old newspapers. Do you what he's worth today? Mr Barrowclough
: No, what? Fletcher
: Nothing. And he still owes for the hand cart.
[Fletcher is on the prison farm, leaning on his shovel next to the pig sty and yawning. Mr Barrowclough arrives accompanied by Rudge, a new inmate at Slade
: Oh, morning Mr Barrowclough. Mr Barrowclough
: Busy, Fletcher? Fletcher
: Oh busier than ever, sir. Mind I never complain. Mr Barrowclough
: I can't actually see what it is you're supposed to be doing. Fletcher
: It's the pigs, sir. They won't eat without my reassuring presence. Very highly strung your average pig, you know.
: Who's he? Mr Barrowclough
: Oh, Rudge. Newly assigned to the farm. Fletcher
: How'd he work that then? Mr Barrowclough
: Pardon? Fletcher
: What? First day inside, the farm? What is he, the governor's nephew?
: I was married. Divorced now. Mr Barrowclough
: Well, look at it this way, 'tis better to have loved and lost than
] Mr Barrowclough
: to spend your whole ruddy life with her.
: This job is a privilege, you know. Fletcher
: For the pigs, yeah.
: I bet if we'd brought Michael Parkinson or the Goodies you wouldn't have held *them* for questioning. Mr Barrowclough
: Probably not. But then you didn't, did you?
: Mind if I cadge a lift? Mr Barrowclough
: Oh, well, we're not... Mr Beal
: I've just been posted here. Mr Barrowclough
: Oh, a brother officer. Mr Beal
: Saves me the cab fare. Mr Barrowclough
: Aye, well, I'd still claim for it, though.
Norman Stanley Fletcher
: [Fletch is bent down and talking to a chicken
] Hello, darling. You trying again? Mr. Barrowclough
: [Barrowclough enters unseen
] Morning, Fletcher. Norman Stanley Fletcher
: Eh? What?
[Fletch stands up straight
] Norman Stanley Fletcher
: Oh, hello, Mr Barrowclough. I thought it was... All right? Mr. Barrowclough
: What was Ives doing? Norman Stanley Fletcher
: He came in on his way to the silos, Mr Barrowclough. Mr. Barrowclough
: Was he taking bets? Norman Stanley Fletcher
: Bets? Mr. Barrowclough
: We suspect he's Harry Grout's runner. Norman Stanley Fletcher
: Runner? Mr. Barrowclough
: Well, for taking the bets. Norman Stanley Fletcher
: I see. Mr. Barrowclough
: Grout's a long-term prisoner, and an unpleasant man. A sort of... unhealthy influence. We're pretty sure he runs both the gambling and the tobacco in this prison. You're a good chap, Fletcher. I don't want you sucked in to that circle. Norman Stanley Fletcher
: Never fear, Mr Barrowclough. Gambling appalls me. I've seen its consequences. Mr. Barrowclough
: It's a plague in this prison. Norman Stanley Fletcher
: My poor old mother. It's not one of my vices.
Norman Stanley Fletcher
: Here, can pigs run? Can they be trained to run? Mr. Barrowclough
: Why? Norman Stanley Fletcher
: I dunno, I just thought... Well, I thought they might like a little run, instead of having to walk like us pedestrians. A bit of exercise. Mr. Barrowclough
: Nice to see you taking an interest in your fellow creatures.
: You seem to be settling in down on the farm. Norman Stanley Fletcher
: I resented it a bit at first, because I've never been a rural man. I have a deep mistrust of animals. Mr. Barrowclough
: I thought you told the governor you liked farming and livestock. Norman Stanley Fletcher
: Livestock, yeah, it's just the animals I don't like. Mr. Barrowclough
: You're very lucky. Normally, a trusty gets a privileged job like this. Norman Stanley Fletcher
: I appreciate it, Mr Barrowclough, and I'm sure you helped me, knowing your kindness. Mr. Barrowclough
: I didn't. Norman Stanley Fletcher
: Say no more. When are you going to get me a single cell? Mr. Barrowclough
: I can't do that. Norman Stanley Fletcher
: I can't share, I've no rapport with Heslop and Evans, there's no intellectual stimuli. Mr. Barrowclough
: Is Evans still eating light bulbs? Norman Stanley Fletcher
: No, he's changed his taste. He ate my shaving mirror. Mr. Barrowclough
: There's little I can do, you know. You shouldn't ask me. Norman Stanley Fletcher
: Wait, Mr Barrowclough, please don't think I want to influence you, or coerce you, or, I hardly like to say it, bribe you. You're chosen by the Home Office for your honesty and integrity. Would a dozen eggs help, at all? No, I'm sorry.
: [working in the library
] I've still got a long and complicated itinerary to complete, sir. Barrowclough
: You're taking your time because you know that when you finish you've got to paint it, which is what you were put here for in the first place! Fletch
: [grinning innocently
] Still waiting for the paint, sir. Barrowclough
: Where is it? Fletch
: [looking falsely concerned
] Stolen, sir! Barrowclough
: [sitting down with his head in his hands
] What's wrong with this prison? Fletch
: There's a strong criminal element in here, sir.
[Barrowclough and the prisoners are trapped in a locked church
: Come on, Fletcher, you've been convicted of breaking and entering. Fletch
: Ah, "entering" being the operative word, Mr Barrowclough. I ain't never been convicted of breaking out of nowhere.