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queen-of-writing-bad-things · 3 years ago

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BBC Worzel Gummidge x Reader (2019) S1: Episode 1: The Scarecrow of Scatterbrook ~ Part 4

The next morning, the farm was as busy as ever. (y/n) and the children were scoffing down whatever was put in front of them, namely porridge, toast and tea since that's all the Braithwaite's had, whilst Mrs Braithwaite was nattering on the landline to one of her friends about how their laundry had gone. Literally gone.

"Oh! Was it a dark wash or a light wash? And it's all gone? Well, can he wear his Wednesday pants? What about his Friday pants? What, all of them?!" She exclaimed when she heard the tale of how a load of washing, including a week's worth of underpants, were stolen from the line. Mr Braithwaite walked into the kitchen, shrugging off his coat and expecting a warm cup of tea from his wife, but all he was greeted with was her chinwagging and his niece struggling to hold it together. The conversation was hilarious to her and it reminded her of how there was never a dull moment on Scatterbrook Farm.

"Well, I would say he could borrow a pair of Henry's but, no, I don't think he'd be keen." The look of the farmer's face when Mrs B suggested that he loaned his pants out to a fellow farmer in need sent (y/n) into peels of laughter and she had to hide her hands in her face to try and calm down.

"Well, listen, I'll keep an eye out. Yeah, all right, then. Cheerio, cheerio." Mrs Braithwaite. said farewell to her friend and put the phone down before turning to her husband and the three sat at the table.

"Who was that?" He asked, wondering who would be asking about his pants so early in the morning.

"Ethel Parsons. All her washing's gone, stolen. She left it out because there was a brisk wind and this morning, gone." She replied, putting her hands on her hips as she thought about the petty crime and who could've done it, but Mr Braithwaite already had his suspicions.

"You two know anything about this?" He asked the children, who gave him a firm answer. "No." "Wasn't us." They said honestly; all they knew about last night was that the wind was from Worzel's message and they were certain that stealing an old lady's laundry wasn't part of their mission.

"They were with me all day. Couldn't have been them." (y/n) told her uncle sternly, not liking how he pinned the blame onto them every time. Didn't he think she was responsible? And surely, after letting him have Meg all day yesterday, he should've been a bit nicer to her and trust their word.

The farmer let out a dissatisfied grunt and turned to wash his hands in the sink, leaving his niece to throw her crusts to the dogs laying under the table. At least he'd dropped it for now, but little did they know, that the real culprit was lurking outside.

Worzel had been camping outside the cottage all morning with a sack full of freshly nicked laundry tucked to his side as he crouched behind a wall. He was waiting for Susan, John and (y/n) with her dogs to exit the house and when he finally heard the door latch go and their happy voices, he sprung into action.

"You know who's behind it, don't you?" He heard his best friend say as she let the dogs run ahead whilst they kept a leisurely pace.

"It's them, the scarecrows, they're here," John answered bang on. Stealing a farmer's pants was quite a mischievous act and it didn't take a genius to work out that a bunch of excitable scarecrows had grown bored in the night.

"Psst." They stopped in their tracks when they saw Worzel poke his nose over the wall and terror immediately set in. He couldn't be seen by the farmer and his wife and they were only metres away in the kitchen.

"Worzel, what on earth on you doing here? My auntie and uncle could see you!" (y/n) hissed, but the scarecrow had bigger fish to fry.

"What a night. Absolute pandemonium as Aunt Sally predicted. Here, can you deal with this?" Worzel grumbled and chucked the sack at John so he could climb over the wall. "What is it?" The boy wondered, not fitting everything together.

"Stolen clothes." The scarecrow replied, making the three panic. Oh god, Mr Braithwaite already had it out for them, he'd send them away for sure if he saw them with Mrs Parson's laundry.

"Worzel, we can't be seen with these! What do you expect to do with the stolen clothing of an old lady?" (y/n) put her hands on her hips and gave him a pointed look and he wasn't too sure how to answer that. "Take the blame?" Well, not like that.

"Let's get out of here. Mr B's already suspicious." John said and they made a hasty exit before anyone leaving the house saw a walking scarecrow make off with a bundle of nicked washing.

"They started arriving around midnight. Trampling over gardens, stealing washing. I had to gather them all up and send 'em all up to the woods to wait. But there's a problem." Worzel explained as they left the farm and avoided the wrath of its angry worker. Whatever was wrong, it didn't sound good. "What?"

"None of em's got the key. None of 'em even knows what it looks like." Worzel sounded worried and it was infectious. They needed the key, whatever it was and without it, they wouldn't save the countryside.

"What are you going to do come harvest moon?" (y/n) asked him, fearing the worst for the farmland they were walking across. It had been in her father's family for generations and with no children to pass it onto, Mr Braithwaite was hoping she'd take it on when he no longer could. However, with no money coming in this year, he might not have a choice.

"Well, that's the problem, I don't know!" The scarecrow exclaimed, feeling the pinch since this was his village, she was his dear friend and it was up to him to solve the problem, but he couldn't piece the puzzle together. "You've got to think, Worzel," John advised him like he didn't know that already.

"I know. What's a good way of concentrating?" He asked his friends and they had a few ideas, well, they had something they'd seen on TV. Stopping at an old wooden post, Susan sat Worzel down as John took off his hat; he'd need to let his leafy head breathe if they were going to get the old juices flowing. Then, (y/n) gently took his arm and bent it so he was sat in a thinking position with his head resting on his knuckles.

"There you go, just like that. I saw it from a statue or something." She told him and stepped back so he could get into deep thought. This went on for an hour; first, at the post, then Worzel decide that pacing would help get his brain warmed up. So, off he went into the field to march around whilst his friends sat in the grass and gave Meg and Honeysuckle some belly-rubs.

When that didn't work, they returned to the field where the kids had first met the scarecrow and tipped him upside down in an attempt to get his conkers working. It was difficult to remember things when they were what you had for a brain. Growing tired of shaking his boots, Susan and John let Worzel go before (y/n) could scold them, making him land roughly in the corn. The dogs rushed to lick at his face, causing (y/n) to giggle when he spluttered at their slobbery and stood up. He could listen to that giggle all day, but he still had to think, think, think.

They were walking down the lane again, trying to think of more ways to help Worzel remember when they stopped dead, no one daring to move a muscle. It was Mr Braithwaite in his tractor and they were out with his scarecrow again, not to mention the stolen clothes. Worzel panicked and passed the sack to John, but when he tried to jump into the bushes, the cloth was pinned to one of his nails and it spilt all over the ground.

"Oh, god, oh god. We're gonna get screwed for this. Worzel, hide!" (y/n) hissed to her friend as they gathered the washing as best they could and the scarecrow ducked behind a tree. It was time to get a telling off.

The tractor came skidding to a halt and when the farmer saw his niece trying to help those two meddlesome kids hide the laundry his temper flared. "Oi!" He yelled and jumped out of the cab so he could storm over to them. (y/n) tried to be brave, but she felt like a child again and even Meg and Honeysuckle cowered before the angry man.

"It's not what it looks like, honest." She tried to tell him as she held the washing to her chest and stepped forward so Susan and John were behind her, but it was pointless. No one could run and he wasn't going to buy her fibs, even if they were a complete truth.

"Don't even try, young lady. I'm not stupid." He scolded her and yanked the sack from her hands, making her breath wobble and her eyes grow misty. She didn't like it when he shouted at her, she didn't want to be sent back to her parent's farm.

"We didn't--" Susan tried to protest their innocence when she saw how her older friend was crumbling under her uncle's sharp tongue, but he didn't want to hear anything from her either.

"I said, I don't want to hear it. Go pack your bags, you're leaving tomorrow." He told the children solemnly, breaking their and his niece's hearts. They'd fallen in love with Scatterbrook, (y/n)'s dogs and they had found a friendship with her that they didn't want to lose.

"No! Don't send us back, we didn't take it, I promise!" John cried and followed the farmer as he slung the clothes into the cab and climbed up after it, but (y/n) wasn't finished with the conversation. "Uncle Henry, please don't make them leave! I'm not going back to talking to sheep and dogs. I want friends!" She pleaded.

"It's not up for discussion, (y/n). You can make new friends in the village like I told you to." He dismissed her tears and ignored the way she angrily thumped her fist against the metal of the tractor as she stepped down from the ladder. She'd never liked the snotty kids in the village, who didn't like that she wasn't born there as they were and now, there was no one around that was her age and interested. Well, apart from Worzel, but she could hardly take him home for a coffee and a slice of cake.

"Where are you taking that?" Susan asked the farmer whilst (y/n) turned her back on him so he wouldn't see how she was furiously wiping away her tears. Peeking through the branches, Worzel hated to see her so upset and like when she was a child, he wanted to take her into his arms and soothe the pain away.

"Ten Acre Field. That corn's not going to ripen so I'll cut it for straw." Mr Braithwaite sighed, not wanting to slash his profits in half, but he'd rather have a little money than none at all. "But, if it goes for straw, it'll be almost worthless." (y/n) sniffed, making the kids gasp.

"You can't, it'll all be fixed tomorrow!" John exclaimed, even though it made no sense to the farmer, who wasn't really paying attention since his tractor was failing to start. "Oh, what now?" He grumbled and hopped down again so he could march to the engine and see what's wrong. But what was curious was when he dug his hanky out from his pocket with his spanner, it was the one that Worzel had knotted.

"Where did you get that?" Susan gasped as she recognised the rag and (y/n) knew what she was on about. He must've just shoved it into his pocket when he took Worzel back to the field a couple of days ago.

"It's mine. I dropped it." She instinctively said, wanting it back from her Uncle since he had been so mean to her and left her feeling wary around him. Looking up at her pale face, he uncrumpled the handkerchief to see an odd shape printed onto the fabric. It was like a teardrop shape with lots of cogs and flowers drawn in the middle and strangely, Mr Braithwaite recognised it.

"Where did you find this?" He asked her in a serious tone, making them wonder why he attached so much importance to the shape. "I didn't steal it off the washing line." (y/n) hissed, not being to help her snarky tone since he used one with her.

"I've seen this before. When I was a boy." He breathed out, catching their attention, not to mention Worzel's from his hiding place. "Where?" John questioned, suddenly forgetting his fear of being sent away when Mr Braithwaite spread the hanky out on the tractor's bonnet.

"This very pattern and I'll never forget it. It had been the harshest winter anyone could remember. It was like we were stuck in winter. There was one last, heavy snowfall at the end of February and the next morning, this...was drawn in huge circles across the fresh snow...right across Ten Acre Field." The farmer described the interesting story and Worzel listened intently. He was starting to remember that night now.

"Who did it?" Susan asked, but she already had a good idea who was the mastermind. "Never found out. And no sooner had it appeared, the weather turned, thaw set in, and the snow melted away within a day. But I'll never forget this pattern." Mr Braithwaite pointed at it, making the three think. Was that what they had to do this time?

"So, dad would remember it too?" (y/n) inquired quietly, making her uncle look at her curiously. He knew that whilst there was nothing for her up north, she still missed the family she had left behind and revelled in hearing stories about what he and his brother got up to when they were boys.

"Yeah, I suppose he would. Now, I don't know what's going on or where you got this, but I haven't got time to find out what you're up to." He returned to his sombre, sour mood and turned to Susan and John with a stony face so he could press the handkerchief in the girl's hand. "Go pack your things. I'll take you to the station in the morning. And you, we'll talk about this tonight. Go on, go!" He sent them off in depressed moods and even Meg and Honeysuckle were lethargic and sadly plodding at (y/n)'s heels as she silently walked off.

"Psst!" Worzel jumped out from the hedgerow, where he'd been sneaking along after disabling the farmer's tractor by pulling out a vital electrical component. He wanted to cheer up his young friends, especially after seeing (y/n) cry, so he yanked a wire out and threw it over the hedge as if it was a grenade. He even plugged his ears waiting for an explosion, which obviously never came.

"Bang." (y/n) said quietly, smiling slightly at his silliness and how her dogs were nuzzling her hands and legs to try and make her feel better. She was glad to have them supporting her, but now, they had work to do.

"Worzel, look." Susan held the rag out for him and he accepted it eagerly. "Let me see that. No wonder I tied a knot, to stop me blowing me nose on it. This is the answer. We've got to do this pattern in Ten Acre Field, but in the corn instead of the snow." He realised and with the sun setting quickly, they quickly set off into a brisk walk so they could reach Ten Acre before sundown.

"Won't the scarecrows go into a sulk when they see us lot? I mean, I've only met a couple and Susan and John are complete strangers." (y/n) mentioned. She knew that all scarecrows were quite quirky, but it sounded like there was going to be an entire gang running around the place. The mere sight of humans would freak them out.

"Oh, don't worry, I've told 'em you're coming, but I told 'em you're a special type of city scarecrow with stupid names and dogs as your only friends," Worzel replied, making the humans feel a bit weird. (y/n) had never lived in a city and barely visited them since she couldn't stand the noise. That and they didn't have stupid names nor only dogs for company.

"Thanks." John rolled his eyes, but let it go when he saw that it was just a scarecrow thing. "Do you know them all?" Susan asked, wanting to understand what was happening tonight.

"Oh, aye, though there might be a couple of new faces," Worzel answered, referring to how his fellow scarecrows will probably have had bits fall off and replaced since he last saw them. "And are they all right?" Susan questioned further, hoping that they were all as polite and welcoming as their friend.

"Utterly insane, the of lot of 'em. No wonder, really, out in all weathers, ravaged by rooks and ravens. They have a tendency to get over-excited and pulling bits off each other for a laugh. Just ask (y/n)." He pointed to her and she remembered that night all too well.

"Oh yeah, they're nuts. They kept yanking my arms to see if I'd fall apart and that was only three of them. You did remember to tell them that we don't come apart this time, right?" She looked at him with a concerned face, not wanting to be tugged around again since her limbs were sore for days afterwards.

"Oh, you'll be fine, my girl. Just set the dogs on 'em like you did last time." Worzel put his hand on her lower back and guided her gently to the gate that opened into the field where several rambunctious scarecrows were living it large.

"Muddy boots...It's anarchy." Worzel cursed mildly when he saw his friends running around, chasing each other and laughing at nothing in particular. "What are you gonna do?" (y/n) asked him and watched as determination filled those blue eyes.

"Here." He passed her the hanky to keep it safe and clambered over the gate before accepting the rag again. "Wait here." He told them and they patiently waited by the gate as he walked up to the rowdy bunch.

"Here. he is. It's Worzel! Three hips for Worzel Gummidge. Hip, hip..." A particularly cheerful and rosy-cheeked scarecrow named Earthy Mangold shouted when she saw her friend. She was small but made up for her stature with a big personality that admired Worzel for working so hard to save the seasons.

"Hip!" The other scarecrows yelled and though he was flattered, their leader knew that they had to get a move on. "This way, you nutters. You're in the wrong field. Follow me. I got the plans drawed on this hanky...Ay-up, scarecrow. You're looking wind-swept and sun-bleached. I heard you got struck by lightning." He chatted with an alarming tall scarecrow that struggled to keep its balance with its very long legs.

"Three times now." He replied, feeling very proud with his rather high tally. It was a scarecrow thing. "Congratulations, old horse. Here. What are you doing?" Worzel sighed when he saw the two fighting and realised that it would take all his patience to straighten this lot out.

"He said I've got mice." One growled and whacked his counterpart with a plank of wood, not that the other scarecrow cared. "Well, he has. And termites. All up his legs."

"Well, you're not gonna get anywhere fighting about it like that," Worzel told them, which was news to the bickering pair. They thought it was a pretty good method. "No?"

"No, you need two planks. One plank each." He exclaimed, thinking that if they were gonna fight, it should at least be fair. "Oh, I'll get another one."

"No time now. This way, chillens! Everyone, these are the scarecrows I was telling you about. City folk." Finally, (y/n), Susan and John were given the green light to climb over the gate and the young woman even managed to get Meg and Honey to squeeze through a hole in the hedgerow. "Don't try and remember their names, you'll never do it. Too few syllables. Come on, you lunatics!"

It was a real struggle trying to get them to stay together and whilst there was never a dull moment, it was taking too long to get them across such a short distance. What to do?...

"Come by." (y/n) whistled lowly and the children watched as the dog moved around the group with precision and careful eyes, her ears twitching for every command. When one scarecrow started to drift, she'd guide them back to the group, whether it was by forcing them to budge over or nipping at their wooden legs to get them moving.

"What are you doing?" Susan whispered as she, Worzel and John watched her work the dog and the way her skill allowed them to speed up with let or hindrance. "Herding them." She murmured, too focused on keeping the group together than chatting.

"She's a marvel. I's remember when she were a young 'un. She won this competition with all these old sorts trying to get this shiny trophy and she blew the lot out of the water. No one round 'ere knows 'ow to work a sheepsdog like her." Worzel praised her, not realising that he was going all soft-eyed and gooey when he saw her do what she did best.

"Take your time...away!" It was like magic, they were so in tune with each other and Meg was running around the group and keeping them together all the way to Ten Acre Field.

They were shrouded by the darkness as night finally rolled around and the only light to guide them was coming from the full, harvest moon. The boisterous scarecrows eventually bunked each other over the fence. and they looked around the pitch black field. It looked so creepy at night.

"Gather round, gather round and settle down. I need a flat surface, a level surface." Worzel told the crowd and a scarecrow with an ironing board pinned to his chest. "Ooh! Can I help?"

"Flat Alistair. Ideal, much obliged." Worzel thanked him and Alistair extended the board so the hanky could be spread across it, but sticking to character, the scarecrows soon got distracted. "Here, Gummidge, Gummidge, I made up a joke for you. You'll like this. What's the difference between a lemon and a banana?"

"I don't know what's the difference between a lemon and a banana?" Worzel, being a typical scarecrow couldn't resist a good joke, even if they didn't have the time for it.

"They're both yellow!" It didn't make sense to the kids or (y/n), but in scarecrow humour, it was absolutely side-splitting. They laughed and giggled and chortled until Worzel tried to get them to calm down again.

"All right, we've got to be serious for a minute. Scarecrows of Albion. Welcome to Scatterbrook..." He introduced, starting off formally, but then someone brought up the whole "It's yellow!" thing and the howling laughter started up again.

"All right! That was a good one, but there'll be time for jokes later after the work's done. Harvest moon is rising, my friends, and we've got a job to do. We've got to do this...out there in the corn." Worzel gestured to the odd pattern on his hanky, but the mammoth task ahead of them was quite daunting to some of the scarecrows. "All right? Is that clear?" Worzel looked at them, but they weren't sure how to even start.

"Um, it's quite complicated." "I was thinking that when you put it together..." It's intricate, very intricate." They voiced their concerns and it didn't sound good to hear them so reluctant when they only had a few hours to get the job done.

"Well, we did it all before in the snow. Does nobody remember how it was done?" Worzel asked, hoping that unlike him, they'd have survived the years since that long winter. But none of them could remember anything, not one little detail.

"What about the shape?" Susan prompted. This was the only surviving thing they had that connected them to that time, so that's what they'd focus on.

"It's like a teardrop. Does that ring any bells?" (y/n) described it softly and they all studied the smooth curves of the pattern, its cogs. and flowers until something popped into Earthy Mangold's head. "It looks like a key." She mumbled, drawing some confused looks.

"What key?" The scarecrow to her right asked, but she had it all worked out. "A key from a tree." She responded, unknowingly reawakening those dusty conkers in Worzel's mind. "What tree?"

"The trees with the keys that spin upon the breeze." Earthy chanted and it was all starting to make sense. "The sycamore key?" He joined in, not knowing that they were working it out in their own little scarecrow way.

"From the sycamore trees?" Another voice came and they all felt a kind of rhythm humming through their sticks like a distant memory was returning to their wood. "It looks like a key."

"What key?"

"A key from a tree."

"What tree?"

"The trees with the keys that spin upon the breeze."

"The sycamore keys..."

"From the sycamore trees."

(y/n) wrapped her arms around Susan and John and the three walked backwards, out of the scarecrow's way as they began to walk and jig about, turning their musings into a song.

"If the sycamore trees are the only ones with keys on it, seems to me there has to be a reason. And I have a funny feeling it's the changing of the season, does everyone agree about the key?" Worzel chanted with his friends and it seemed like their found their answer.

"Yes, everyone agrees about the key." They all replied and (y/n) laughed with the children as they started to sing again.

"It looks like a key. What key? A key from a tree. What tree? The sycamore keys from the sycamore trees. The sycamore keys from the sycamore trees?" Over and over they repeated it, like some sort of spell had been cast over them or maybe it was just their natural instinct to do what's right for the countryside. The wind whistled and the air seemed to stay still as all the scarecrows began to spin around in shapes, passing through the corn with one thing in mind; the key from the tree.

The three "city scarecrows" helped out the ones that couldn't walk perfectly and Meg and Honeysuckle guided them down the right tracks, sniffing out the right curve or line. They didn't even have to look at the rag again, they just knew where to twirl, where to step and before their very eyes, they had trampled enough of the plant to imprint the key in the field, just like they had done in the snow all those years ago.

"Thank you, scarecrow." (y/n) whispered in Worzel's ear and gently placed a kiss on his cheek as the other scarecrows made their getaway, leaving their work behind. Not wanting to stick around for her uncle to see her in the field, (y/n) sprinted through the corn, her dogs barking and racing in front of her as she laughed with the other scarecrows. Worzel stumbled behind, his hand left holding the cheek that her lips had touched and he was certain he had never felt joy like that before.

The sun was setting on Scattterbrook and (y/n) looked over to see that Susan and John had passed out in the grass, content to sleep knowing that the village and their newly beloved farm were safe. They didn't want to leave, but at least Mr Braithwaite would be able to harvest his crops and (y/n) would be able to her lambs to market; the magic of the scarecrows had worked and before the village could wake up, the corn, barley and wheat grew golden and the sheep, cattle and chicks were grown in the blink of an eye. Summer was over and the work of Scatterbrook's guardians was done.

On Scatterbrook Farm, the children woke up to strangely find themselves in their own beds and no one in the house but (y/n), Meg and Honey. Mr and Mrs Briathwaite were nowhere to be seen and reluctantly, the young woman had found herself waking her new friends for the station as her uncle had instructed, but they couldn't find him.

"Hello? Auntie Reenie? Uncle Henry? Anyone at all?" She called out but got no reply. The table was empty, no breakfast or tea and John still felt like the night had been a dream. "Do you remember coming back last night?" He asked his sister, but she too had no clue.

"No. I remember laying down in the grass and closing my eyes for a minute." She recalled the dancing and cheering and then how her eyelids began to droop and everything stopped. "Same."

"You two were out like a...light" (y/n)'s happy tone went quiet when. she rounded the table and saw that their bags were waiting by the door, probably packed by Mrs Braithwaite whilst. they were still snoozing. How long had they been asleep?

"What time is it?"John asked, but then Susan tapped his hand to show him the bad news. "Look, our bags." She whimpered and sadly, they went over to sling them over their shoulders, even if it didn't feel right to be leaving. A car horn pipped outside and they all assumed that there was the farmer, coming to take them away.

"Just so you know, I don't you to go." (y/n) told the children, honestly and wholeheartedly, feeling like even though it had only been a few short days, they had found a friendship together that was akin to being like siblings. She gave them both one final hug and sniffed as she opened the door, but when Mr Braithwaite pulled up, he didn't look nearly as angry as she thought he would.

"Come on. Hurry up, leave the bags. You won't be needing them." He shouted over the engine, but they'd heard him clearly and were very confused. "I thought we were going to the station. You said we were going back." Susan said timidly, but to her shock, there was no malice in the farmer's voice.

"It seems like I owe you an apology. Mrs Parsons said she saw the person what stole her washing and it wasn't any one of you." He told the kids, making their rapid heartbeats slow down, so they approached the car, intent on finding out about this thief in the night. "Oh."

"You didn't see any strangers hanging about?" He asked, wondering if there had been any suspicious activity last night, but they'd never tell him. "No, we haven't seen anyone" (y/n) insisted, which seemed to do the job.

"Anyway, come on, jump in. There's something I want you to see." He smiled excitedly at the kids, who eagerly hopped into the front seat whilst (y/n) let Meg and Honeysuckle jump into the back trailer. He drove them all the way to Ten Acre Field and showed them how the corn was ripe and ready and the lambs were the right age, all thanks to Worzel and his magic key. "Look at that".

"The lambs, they're big. They're huge! I--we're gonna get paid!" (y/n) squealed and hugged her uncle's shoulders from behind as Meg and Honey looked out at the changed landscape. Things were back on track and the Braithwaites were gonna be just fine. "I know, my girl. I know." He patted her hands and they were tearful at the sight of the corn, in all its glory.

"Can I have some help in the orchard?" Mrs Braithwaite shouted from the country lane and held out a fruit basket for Susan to come and help her. They walked off happily, chatting about everything and nothing as the harvest began.

The corn was plucked and trimmed by the combine harvester, not missing a single grain. since everyone had worked so hard to get to season. Mrs B and Susan were filling baskets and even a wheelbarrow full of apples, John was learning the ways of being a farmer and (y/n) was rounding up her sheep and separating the lambs for the lorry. It was sad to them go, knowing where they were going, but it had always been on the horizon for them and now, it was here.

"I know, Just in the nick of time. Oh-aye. Fingers crossed. What? What's their names?" Worzel was sat on a quiet country lane with the spokescrow and they were both watching the harvest. "The chillens? Oh, they'll be staying for a while, help with the harvest. Farmers have taken a shine to 'em, specially my (y/n). If I'm honest, I have, too. They're good kids, if a bit eccentric. I'll see they stay out of trouble and mischief." They chatted as the rest of the murder enjoyed what had been promised to them.

"Have you finished your grain now? Enjoy that, did you? Smashing...get off my land, then. I'm sorry, did I not make myself clear? Did you think we were friends now? Far from it, pal. Nothing personal, it's just the way things are. Clue's in the name, Worzel Gummidge, the Scarecrow of Scatterbrook. And I'll give you five seconds to get your greasy talons off my chalk, or I'll get my girl to set the dogs on you..." The friendly mood changed quickly. and the crow cowered before the scarecrow.

"Five. Four. Three..." And like that they were off, too scared to argue with him and risk the prospect of making enemies with the shepherdess and her dogs too. It was curious, the crows noted how protective the scarecrow was of her and how he had fought so hard to keep her in the village and with him. They'd watch this very closely because they were certain that if these young chillens were staying, then the adventures of Worzel Gummidge, Scarecrow of Scatterbrook and (y/n) Braithwaite, Shepherdess of Scatterbrook Farm would continue.

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