All This Were Fields

‘Of course, back in those days, all this were fields.’

The older old man nodded wisely and stared off into the distance.

‘But, it… it's all fields now,’ John said.

‘True, true,’ the younger old man replied. ‘But, as Weeblekneezer here, said, it were different in those days, better. Modern fields are all wrong. The wrong sort of grass, for a start. That yellow stuff an' all. What kind of crop is that for a man to grow?’

‘True, true. Very true young Frenglegasket,’ The older old man said. ‘And, of course, there are the hedges.’

John looked down over the fields stretching out in front of them. ‘What hedges?’

‘True, true. Very true,’ The older old man said, spitting off to his left.

‘Aye, true enough,’ the younger old man agreed.

‘'What Hedges?' he said “what hedges?” Frenglegasket,’ the older old man said, sniggering.

‘Yes, he did that.’ The younger old man nodded. ‘They never realise, do they?’

‘Oh no, no, no. They think 'cos it's green, it's good.’

‘True, true. They just don't know, do they?’

‘What don't I know?’ John said.

‘It's the wrong type of countryside, this is.’

‘True, true.’