Around the age of 16 or 17, I became acquainted with Chaucer’s “General Prologue to the Canterbury Tales,” a slim, red volume given to me to study as part of my A-Level English Literature Course.
I have a memory that the portrait of the Knight did not quite sit well with me, but I admit, this may be a false view, coloured by future events. Nevertheless, what absolutely did happen was that my teacher was very sniffy about a book that suggested that subsequent, well thought of commentators, had completely misread Chaucer’s portrait of the knight. He was not being held up as an example of honour, piety, and chivalry. This knight was one of a new breed, available to the highest bidder, unconcerned with whether the slaughtered were believers or heathens. Only the coin mattered.
My teacher dismissed this heresy out of hand, and with it uttered the name Terry Jones.
I was delighted, for at that point, I was also voraciously consuming Monty Python’s Flying Circus, that mixture of silliness, anarchy, and joy which challenged so many comedic conventions. While I continued to study Chaucer, I was now much more interested in the study of silliness.
Fast-forward over thirty years, and I was excited to see that Robert Ross had released a book called Seriously Silly: The Life of Terry Jones. Ross had been clever enough to release the book just before Christmas, so I was eagerly able to request a copy. I am happy to say that Santa delivered.
That I did not get round to reading it for this long is entirely on me, rather than any deficiency from Ross – so I apologise for the lateness of this review – but I am glad I finally found the space to stop, sit down and read.
What I found was a poignant pen-portrait of a uniquely talented man. They say polymaths don’t know everything, but rather remain curious throughout their lives. Jones, it seems, was curious about everything. From writer, director, performer, historian, brewer, gastronome, bon-viveur, raconteur and all-round good egg, Jones brought curiosity to everything he did – and he did everything very well.
But he also lived life without reference – to his own set of values and norms – and while this might have been tremendously freeing, it also caused him to clash with those who thought otherwise; not that Jones would have cared – indeed, he would have loved it. At seventeen I had not quite learned that lesson. I wrote my essays on the Knight with the received wisdom. I lacked the courage and freedom that Ross lovingly sends coursing through each line of this book.
And “lovingly” is the right word there because, unlike many biographers, Ross and Jones were close friends. The idea for the book only came about as the outcome of one of an evolutionary series of long, and incredibly boozy lunches. That to me seems to be the epitome of living without boundaries. Don’t worry about this evening, or tomorrow. Let’s look at the dessert menu and order another bottle of good wine.
I am not sure that people live lives like Terry’s any more. I wonder if he would recognise the world that we live in today. Probably. And he would probably send it up in a brutal sketch, in drag, screaming like a harridan. Have a read of the book and see what you think. I can recommend it.