Scene: Bag End. Early afternoon on a beautiful spring day a few months after Frodo’s departure for the Havens. Sam, whistling cheerfully, is just wiping his muddy feet on the mat after an hour or two’s gardening when there is a loud knock on the door. He opens it. Outside is a tall, thin female Big Person with horn-rimmed spectacles, an imperious expression and a clip-board.

Female: Mr Sam Gamgee?

Sam (guardedly) Yes?

Female (who has one of those voices, midway between a baah and a quack, peculiar to female do-gooders): May I come in? (She brushes past him into the hall before he can say either yea or nay.) I’m Miss Prism, your trauma counsellor.

Sam: I beg your pardon?

Miss P.: Yes, for your PTSD. (A toothy smile.) Shall we go somewhere a little more comfortable?

Sam, mesmerised, leads the way to the study. A pleasant, sunlit room. Portraits of Bilbo and Frodo on the walls. The Red Book in a place of honour. An amiable clutter on the desk, surmounted by a draft of Sam’s forthcoming address to the Hobbiton and Bywater Gardening Club on the subject of Tater Blight and What To Do About It.

Miss P.: Do sit down, Mr Gamgee.

(Sam, taken aback by being told to sit down by an uninvited guest in his own house, does so.)

Miss P.: Now, Mr Gamgee, I’m your friendly preventive counsellor and I’m here to help you. Our research has shown that almost everybody who took part in the recent (lowering voice) upheavals .. you know … has been severely traumatised by their experiences, even if it doesn’t show on the surface, and it is the task of people like me to spare them suffering by bringing those troublesome memories to the surface where we can deal with them. Now, I’m sure you have flashbacks?

Sam: What flashbacks?

Miss P.: Very vivid, troubling memories of your recent terrible experiences.

Sam: You mean, do I remember the Ring and our journey and all that?

Miss P. (saccharine grin): Yes, Sam – I may call you Sam, may I not? We don’t want to be formal, do we? Yes, Sam, I mean precisely that.

Sam: (who is very proud of the ‘Mr’ which is generally accorded him as the new master of Bag End): Yes, Miss Prism, of course I do.

Miss P.: And these memories are troublesome? Unpleasant?

Sam: Well, some of them aren’t very pleasant, of course. But it’s all over and done with now.

Miss P.: Oh, surely not. Our experience shows that if such memories aren’t properly dealt with, they make it impossible for the victims to get on with their everyday lives. Don’t you find that?

Sam: No, not at all.

Miss P. (impatiently): Come, come, that can’t be right. Don’t you find your memories getting in the way of your normal life? Interfering with your performance of everyday tasks? Disrupting your normal sleep patterns?

Sam: Well, I do have the occasional nightmare. Black Riders and all that.

Miss P. (delighted): Aha, I thought so. And you are then assailed by a crippling sense of helplessness? Oppressed and crushed by the awfulness of it all?

Sam: No, I have a nice cuddle with Rosie and by next morning I’m as right as rain.

Miss P.: No, Sam, you’re not, it just means that you’ve thrust the memories back into your subconscious where they are constantly at work undermining the very foundations of your being. We must act quickly or you’ll soon be a human – sorry, Halfling – wreck. Now, I want you to tell me all about the Black Riders, and the Balrog, and your terrible journey to Mordor, and your awful sufferings as you crossed the plain of Gorgoroth, but as you do that, watch my finger very carefully. (She starts to waggle her finger to and fro before his eyes.)

(Sam is silent.)

Miss P. (waggling more than ever): Do be quick, Mr Gamgee, I have a lot of other patients to see, you know.

Sam: I can’t remember a thing while you’re waggling your finger like that.

Miss P.: Dear me, Sam, you are being difficult. Experience shows that eye movement desentisisation and reprocessing is a most effective way of promoting the discharge of negative memories. 

Sam: If you want to know about all that stuff, why don’t you read Mr Frodo’s book?

Miss P. (sighing exasperatedly): Sam, you’re completely missing the point. But talking of Frodo reminds me of another important thing about your experiences. (She consults her clipboard.) According to my information, this Frodo (Sam frowns at the disrespectful allusion) took you with him on this perilous journey in your capacity as his servant?

Sam: Well, not exactly…

Miss P.: Were you his servant or not?

Sam: Well, in a manner of speaking…

Miss P.: And did your contract specify that you had to accompany him on journeys to highly dangerous parts of the world?

Sam: Contract?

Miss P. (excitedly): You didn’t have a contract? Goodness me, do you realise that if you were subjected to such appalling experiences without proper contractual arrangements you have a cast-iron claim against his estate for compensation for your extreme mental suffering? Sam, I know an excellent law firm that will take this case for you on a no-win-no-fee basis…

Sam: But-

Miss P.: You could take his heirs to the cleaners! You could make a fortune!

Sam: Miss Prism, I am Mr Frodo’s heir, and a more generous, kind-hearted, noble, long-suffering master… (he is nearly in tears)

Miss P.: Ah, I see. We are in deep waters here. This rather unnatural relationship has clearly produced a long-term emotional trauma which will take many months of therapy to resolve. I think we had better plan a series of weekly appointments (producing a vast, leather-bound, gold-blocked appointments diary).

(Sam bursts into tears of exasperation. Rosie bustles in, carrying Elanor, who immediately  begins to howl in sympathy with Sam. Rosie, sizing up the situation at a glance, deposits Elanor on Sam’s lap, puts a powerful hand on Miss Prism’s shoulder and propels her towards the door.)

Miss Prism: All right, Mrs Gamgee, I’m just going. I’ll come back later to finalise the arrangements.

Rosie: Not if I have anything to do with it you won’t.

Miss P.: Aha, wifely jealousy. I can deal with that, dear, don’t worry. Now (consulting her diary) my next appointment is with a Mr Meriadoc Brandybuck of Great Smials. Can you tell me the best way to get there?

Rosie (shortly): You’ll need to cross the Brandywine. (At the front door.) Oh, by the way, have you been in Emyn Arnen yet, over Gondor way? Because there’s a lord and lady there who’ve been through some truly dreadful experiences, and they’d love to meet you I’m sure.

(Miss Prism shudders and involuntarily rubs her own backside.)

Miss P. (stiffly): I have … ahem … already called on them. They were most unco-operative. I needed six months’ counselling myself afterwards.

Rosie (grinning) I thought as much. Good day to you. (She slams the door behind the departing Miss P., and after a moment’s thought, bolts it. Then she tiptoes back towards the study. Howls and sobs are still proceeding from inside, but after a minute or two they start to diminish. Then she hears Sam’s voice.)

Sam: This little piggy went to market….

Elanor: (hiccup)

Sam: This little piggy stayed at home…

Elanor: (chirrup)

Sam: This little piggy ate roast beef…

Elanor: (gurgle)

Sam: This little piggy had none…

(Elanor: giggle)

Sam: And this little pig went

Elanor (triumphantly) wee-wee-wee!!

Sam: - all the way home. (Loud giggles from both of them.)

(Rosie, satisfied, opens the door.)

Sam: Has she gone?

Rosie: Yes, dear, and she won’t come back, I’ll see to that. What was the King saying about not letting Big People into the Shire?

Sam: He did suggest it.

Rosie: Well, I think he had a point. Now if you’ll keep an eye on Elanor, I’ll go and get the dinner on.

Sam: What’s for dinner?

Rosie: Mushrooms, bacon, eggs, sausages, fried tomatoes and fried bread.

Sam: (giving her a smacking kiss) Now that’s what I call a therapy.