Most people assume that the sound effect fart noises, those eponymous outrages to decency and morality blasted upon his victims by the Phantom Raspberry Blower of Old London Town, were the work of Mr Spike Milligan, co-writer (with ‘A Gentleman’ aka Mr Ronald Barker) of The Two Ronnies’ parody of Jack the Ripper. Even though in the closing spoof credits, the raspberries are indeed attributed to Mr Milligan, they were, in fact, provided by Sir David Jason, as confirmed in his 2013 autobiography. His finest role, possibly, and a fitting tribute to the actor knight’s talents. 

I discover this nugget of 1970s TV trivia gold down the rabbit hole I go after my other half decides to write the Phantom into the eulogy he is preparing to read at his uncle’s funeral. In life, Uncle Dave, was a favourite: a very tall man with a big sense of humour, a healthy disregard for propriety, and a talent for getting into scrapes. This combination of character traits in his relative regularly and enjoyably entertained Dean as a boy, leaving a lasting sense of affection in his memory.

In a scene from one of Messrs Corbett and Barker’s iconic mock Victorian melodrama, a police constable, truncheon aloft, chases the raspberry-blowing Phantom in vain round and round a long hedge, each time exclaiming as he reaches the near or far end, “’Ere! I want a word with you!”. Dean uses this line to build a few amusing anecdotes with which to entertain his uncle’s mourners in a style he knows would have been approved and appreciated by the deceased.

Such as the time the Deputy Head of Dean’s school approached to remonstrate (in similar fashion to the Raspberry Blower’s constable) at his uncle’s squat Austin 1100 (a tight fit for a man with long legs), Dean’s lift home each Friday, meantime illegally wedged in the bus stop between two school coaches. The nephew enjoys rather than is embarrassed by his uncle’s oblivious indifference to the parking predicament, the transgression, and the authority of the schoolteacher. ‘Deano! Over here!’ his uncle cries, before embarking upon multiple manoeuvres to escape the squeeze, pulling away from the exasperated teacher, hands in the air, as if to say, “’Ere! I want a word with you!”

Or the one such Friday, back at his nephew’s for tea with the family. Uncle Dave hasn’t engaged the hand-break properly of the infamous motor. His other nephew, Dean’s younger brother, suddenly raises the alarm, his attention caught by the car rolling down the hill, backwards. It comes to rest among the pampas-filled front garden of a neighbour who, glaring up the road at the tall man scratching his head, waves a fist, pointing at the flattened grasses, no doubt shouting, if they could hear him, “’Ere! I want a word with you!”

The funeral is at midday. We give a different uncle (called Chis, and very much alive) a lift to the crematorium where he has already attended another funeral earlier that morning. On its website, The Vale Crematorium describes itself as ‘comfortable and modern’ and that it is ‘furnished in oak and enjoys long ranging views of the countryside beyond’, all of which must be a great comfort to the visitors in their up to 60-minute service slot (or double that amount if you go twice in one day like Uncle Chris).

The celebrant is not the one with whom Dean has been corresponding. She doesn’t touch base with him beforehand or he with her. But the Order of Service (sporting a photograph of Uncle Dave looking remarkably like comedian Steve Delaney’s alter ego, Count Arthur Strong) lists ‘Dean’s Memories’, so he knows when to go on. But ten minutes in and she starts reading them out herself. We don’t know what version she has in her hands. Will she really quote the line from The Two Ronnies and read Dean’s words imagining his uncle running away from St Peter at the pearly gates as he points to the long list of messes and minor misdemeanours, exclaiming, “’Ere! I want a word with you!”?

No. She doesn’t have that version. Or, if she does, she doesn’t read it. The words she does utter are delivered with not a trace of irony or humour. Nor with knowledge or love. And, unsurprisingly, they are received in stony silence by the small congregation. 

After only twenty minutes, the soulless service is done. Dean, neither annoyed nor upset, shrugs in resignation. Another mess. And probably quite appropriate, remembering the personality of his uncle. Dean’s mother, however, is livid, and it is all he can do to stop her chasing the poor celebrant through the ‘floral tribute area’, brandishing her Order of Service, and declaiming, “’Ere! I want a word with you!”

Or, probably more her style, blowing a huge, flatulent raspberry.