Eric Allen (Bert Fry)
It’s harvest suppertime in Brookfield’s barn and Jill’s making the last minute preparations, which mainly consists of strategising how to cut off Bert Fry when his planned poetry readings starts to go on too long (I expect her cue will be when the guests start face planting into their pavlovas). Bert’s printed off some copies of his poems, which mainly consists of punning on Houseman - for ‘blue remembered hills’ think ‘blue remembered pills’, you get the idea - and David and Kenton thinks it’s hilarious. Jill kicks off proceeding with and introductory speech which, of course, sets just the right tone as well as saving the assembled villagers from David and Kenton’s ‘comedy’ routines.
Bert becomes a bit of an inspiration for Ben as he’s deciding on his options for his training and is leaning towards elderly care. Roooooth’s coincidentally taking Bert out for a drink in The Bull later to thank him for helping to clear up after the harvest supper and she suggests that Ben tags along. In the pub Jolene’s effusive about Bert’s performance and makes him an extra special supper - cheese and pickle sandwiches with a pickled egg on the side. So enthusiastic is she about Bert’s poems that she wants to set them to music (please, dear god, no).
Ben and Bert get on famously, reminiscing about all Bert’s highlights from his years in Ambridge. He even teaches Ben to play Crib until he loses then nods off, allegedly so he can’t be beaten again. We don’t actually hear from the man himself though, because although Bert seems to be cropping up in every storyline this week, we never hear from the man himself. And we never will now because, dear listeners, Bert has just played the game hole, not just of Crib but of life itself.
It’s hard to imagine a more suitable passing for Bert. Fresh from being applauded at the harvest supper for his poetry, he had a bellyful of free beer and sandwiches in the Bull and after an evening playing Crib he just fell asleep there and then. Apparently Roooooth and Jolene took turns with CPR (I’m glad we didn’t hear that bit, it would have been insensitive) but it was too late for the 85 year old Bert. My money’s on the pickled eggs though - better check that best-before date Jolene.
For someone who wants to work with the elderly it seems surprising that Ben seems to be in denial about being there when Bert died, or indeed his death full stop - “it happens” is his response when Beth tries to talk to him about it. She’s annoyed that he doesn’t seem to feel anything about losing a man he’s known all his life, but - and Ben does sound very upset at this point - he tells her that he doesn’t want to talk about it. What he’s in fact struggling with is the feelings of doubt that now consume him about his chosen career path - what if he’s not up to it after all.
Of course Rex is devastated. He moved in with Bert some time ago and is just glad that he went to the harvest supper and was there for Bert’s final poetry reading. Bert’s son Trevor is on his way down and Rex needs to make sure the bungalow is ship-shape, including Bert’s room. He needn’t have worried though as Bert has left everything neat and tidy. Trevor’s asked Rex to find some things of his Dad’s; a book on Borsetshire folk tales, a picture of Freda and a cricket scorecard for a 1985 match between Ambridge and Penny Hassett - B Fry, 44 not out. They also find a saucer with 3 matching cufflinks in it! Did Bert Fry have Polymelia (and if so why didn’t we know, and where did he buy his shirts) or did Lynda Snell once put on a version of Edward Albee’s play The Man Who Had Three Arms, with Bert in the starring role? We may never know.
Tony’s the first one to encounter Trevor as Rex is out buying biscuits for his imminent arrival (who on earth doesn’t always have a packet of biscuits in the cupboard? I’m sure Bert would have been an avid biscuit eater - I had him down as a Rich Tea man, with perhaps the odd Fig Roll for funtional reasons. Or perhaps he went off biscuits after Freda died and wasn’t able to enjoy any more of her Victorian Fairings). Trevor’s quite the talker and accomplishes the rare feat for boring the pants off Tony - Trevors detailed rundown of his train journey down, and recital of the timetable for trains from Hollerton Junction beats Tony’s tales from the potato harvest hands down. He’s having such a great time reminiscing about his dad and Ambridge that he decides to stay a few more days so that he can see more of the village.
He makes his way to the Bull with Rex and he takes some of his dad’s old photographs with him. Eddie’s chuffed to see pictures of Bert and Joe together and calls them “the Federer and Nadal of flower and produce”. (I’d have thought Statler and Waldorf, the two cantankerous old men from the muppets, would have been more fitting). But the rivalry of the two village stalwarts seems to have been passed down to their sons as Trevor and Eddie spar over how to refer to the pair - Fry and Grundy or Grundy and Fry. One thing Eddie does know is that Trevor “could bore the backside off a dead rabbit”, presumably once he’d finished with all the donkeys.
Eddie’s drawn up a rota so they all share the pain of being talked at, for 15 minutes at a time, and to use a safe word ‘Badger’ when they need to bail out. Leonard takes the first leg (welcome back Leonard) and Trevor progresses devastatingly through the rota until he arrives at Tony. After an extended monologue about trying to by a sandwich on Strasbourg station Tony panics and repeatedly shouts “BADGER”. No-one picks up on this and Tony is left looking like he’s got omnivore-themed Tourettes. Leonard wanders over to ask him everything’s ok and gets roped in again. Eddie meanwhile thinks his plan’s gone really well but Jolene’s not happy, not happy at all, as Trevor’s emptied the place. Afterwards Rex and Trevor walk back to the bungalow but there’s no let-up. It’s a dark and starry night and Trevor starts going through the constellations but Rex politely cuts him short.
The mood changes and in a touching gesture Trevor offers him Bert’s old poetry notebooks and tells him that Bert thought of him as a second son and was really proud of him. The way he says it though makes me wonder whether Bert actually said the same to his actual son, Trevor.
This week was dominated by Bert’s death but rather than end on a sad note I thought I would publish his beloved wife Freda’s recipe for Victorian Fairings which I’ve copied from the Jennifer Aldridge’s Archers Cookbook by Angela Piper.
115g margarine or butter
1 tbsp golden syrup
85g brown sugar
170g self-raising flour
½ tsp bicarbonate of soda
1 tsp ground ginger
½ tsp ground mixed spice
pinch of salt
Melt the butter and syrup in a pan over a low heat and stir in the sugar. Remove from the heat and add the sieved flour, soda, spices and salt. Mix until a soft and smooth dough is formed.
Take rounded teaspoons of the mixture, roll into balls and place on greased baking trays, leaving room for the biscuits to spread.
Bake at 350°F/180°C/Gas 4 for 10-15 minutes before removing to a wire rack to cool.
Makes about 24
