Since they first came onto our screens, these BBC reworkings of the beloved Worzel Gummidge have quickly become a Christmas staple.
Perhaps the schedulers, targeting that strange limbo between Christmas and New Year, tucked these two specials in the days following the turkey-filled main event to lift our flagging spirits. But to me, these delightful pieces of television would not have been out of place in the prime slots of Christmas Eve and Christmas Day itself.
I think the element that makes these pieces of television so endearing is the embracing rural folk tradition.
These days, many of us are bombarded with ever-increasing levels of complexity, which we meet with escalating and convoluted technological solutions.
But the Worzel Gummidge programmes remind me that there is still simplicity to be had in life, and it is a simplicity underpinned by seasonality and joyous love for the countryside.
When James Joyce described the fall with the deliciously mischievous “bababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnuk,” he was referring to a separation from pious knowledge and state of grace. Similarly, the countryside handbook that Worzel carries in his tunic is filled with the sort of knowledge that every child once knew by heart. Boys and girls knew the names of the trees they climbed and fell out of, the berries they ate from the hedgerows and the animals that peered out from the brackens.
But this knowledge is fading, along with the environment that it has long described. While Worzel and his scarecrow friends bring us genuine moments of comedic levity, in their weather-beaten faces and costumes there is more than a tinge of sadness, creeping loss, and decay.
The narrative of “appreciate what we have before it is gone” sits as a sub-text in each of the Worzel Gummidge specials. It is possibly a theme of Mackenzie Crooks’ wider work, especially if we nod back to “Detectorists,” which is also steeped in rural tradition. However, the environmental message is not pushed too heavily, but the specials remain thought-provoking, nonetheless.
I felt the theme of separation and loss continued with the two offerings over this festive period. First, Farmer Braithwaite, played by the ever marvellous Steve Pemberton, is faced with the loss of his beloved birdwatching hobby when a group of rare seaside red-billed chough are blown off-course during a storm. The village grapevine unleashes a flurry of activity as professional birdwatchers and media descend upon Scatterbrook. This close-quarters scrutiny rather scuppers Worzel’s plan to scare the rare breed, and the ensuing chaos unfolds to a pleasing end.
There is also a little more focus on the Braithwaites in the following episode, entitled “Calliope Jane.” Here, the sub-plot tends towards the topic of family. Mr Braithwaite and Mrs Braithwaite (beautifully pitched by Rosie Cavallero) are the childless owners of Scatterbrook Farm. Crook has skillfully built the relationship between the Braithwaites and their foster children, Susan and John. Against the backdrop of the evocative funfair, the bond between the children and the adults deepens. Each openly addresses the desire to become a family – parents looking for children and children looking for parents.
In the infectious joy that Susan and John exhibit around the farm, the desire for a family is acknowledged by the Braithwaites. However, it is no accident that this joy of life – initially missing from the jaded city children stuck on their mobile devices – is born from the meetings with Worzel.
Worzel is the constant, representing joy, seasonality, and the childlike hope, recreated through the turning of the calendar. Anything is possible, whether that be scaring a flock of chough, or enchanting a fairground of people into a peaceful sleep.
In the second episode, Bill Bailey stars as Mr Peregrine, the proprietor of the wonderful, steam-driven fair. Bailey’s performance also hinted at loss. Bailey, who has a natural gleam in this eye, channelled his inner Willy Wonka to give a rendition of a man grieving the loss of innocence and magical childhood. This memory, hidden under the gossamer layers of adulthood, is easily exposed within the presence of Worzel, even in his sulking, fully scarecrow state.
Because magic, memory, and nature are never far from the surface, no matter how many smart devices we have strapped about our person.
The great tree of trees was there before I was around and will endure long after I am gone. I think this is part of the point. Let’s not take ourselves too seriously – be your inner Worzel Gummidge. And while we are there, perhaps lookout for those around you. Like the Brathwaite’s, Susan, and John, family can be anywhere that you decide.
And finally, the greenery and balance of the countryside is such a gift. We are but temporary stewards. Looking after the place, well, it is necessary, but it doesn’t have to be difficult. Not if we all live with the joy of scarecrows, anyway.