Simon Brett - A Comedian Dies

The jokes were equally simple. For example, Barber would be stropping his razor. ‘Always get it very sharp, sir, got to be sharp. I test my razors by seeing if they can cut through a single hair. A single hair.’ (HE SUDDENLY WHIPS A PROP HARE OUT OF HIS. COAT AND SLASHED AT IT WITH THE RAZOR, WHICH HAS NO EFFECT.)

‘Not sharp enough.’ (HE CONTINUES STROPPING.)

Or again. .

BARBER: And now for the lather. . Only the finest shaving brush is used. Genuine ivory stem. Do you realize an elephant gave his life just so that you could look elegant for your girlie?

POLE: Ooh.

BARBER: Not to mention the badger.

POLE: The badger?

BARBER (PUSHING THE SHAVING BRUSH INTO HIS MOUTH): I told you not to mention the badger. And then of course there’s the shaving soap. I have a variety of shaving soaps. How would you like your shaving soap?

POLE: Oh, I’d like it scented.

BARBER: No, it’s much easier if you take it with you. But what you really need is my very own special soap. It’s a mixture of silver paint and sulphuric acid and it has two advantages — first, it means you can see your face in your chin so you don’t need a mirror. And second, you get some amazing dimples.

And third. . it make the lather go farther.

This last line was greeted by an enormous round of applause. It was one of the old Barber and Pole catch-phrases. That, along with ‘It helps the soap to cope,’ ‘Only a little nick, sir’ and ‘Bepardon?’ were all the trade-marks of the double act. And the audience clung to them like religion in an age of uncertainty. They responded ecstatically.

Even the hardware of a television studio failed to ruin the atmosphere. Because the moves and action of the sketch were so fixed, it had been possible to make the camera script very simple. The whole six minutes ran without break and no retakes were required.

There was no doubt about it. The show had been an enormous success.

Charles stood by the bar at the back of the scrum of television people getting drinks. He felt strange and needed the reassurance of a large Bell’s.

It was such a long time since he had felt that kind of warmth from an audience. Such a long time since he had appeared in anything more than modestly successful. To his annoyance, he felt rather emotional. It was a moving experience to feel the response of a wildly enthusiastic audience. It cut through all his layers of cynicism and left him exposed like a stage-struck teenager.

‘Drink, drink, old boy. Really terrific show. There’s the beginning of something here, or the old nose for success has got its sinuses blocked.’ Walter Proud’s bonhomous arm was flung round his shoulders. ‘Sid. Sid.’ The producer waved at the barman. ‘What’s it to be, Charles?’

‘Large Bell’s, please.’

‘Of course, of course. Should have remembered. That’s a large Bell’s, Sid, and my usual, a large gin with. .’ But the barman’s attention was elsewhere. ‘Look, I think I was first. Excuse me, Charles, I must just. .’ Walter dived into the melee.

‘Not bad. Thank you.’ Charles turned to see Lennie Barber behind him and took the brusque words as a great compliment. The comedian was not given to sycophancy.

‘I’m very grateful to you for all your help, Lennie. As I said, it’s a completely new field for me. I’ve found it fascinating. And may I say how marvellous I thought you were with Alexander Harvey. And in the sketch. . really great.’ Oh dear, is there nothing that one performer can say to another that doesn’t sound insincere?

‘He’s nothing, that Harvey, after you’ve played a second house in Liverpool.’

The subject of their conversation approached with a smile sculpted onto his face and a hand outstretched. ‘Lovely show. Delighted with it. I hope I set them all up for you all right,’ he added jocularly, as if his discomfiture had been part of a subtle master plan.

Lennie Barber looked at Alexander Harvey seriously before replying. Then, as if he had thought it out in some detail, he said, ‘You weren’t that good actually, lad. Tell you what, you do three or four years round the clubs and you might turn into a reasonable feed.’

A visible effort of will kept the smile in place on the face of the country’s most popular chat-show host. While he searched his mental quiver for a barb with sufficient poison on it to use in reply, he was interrupted by the arrival behind him of a neat forty-year-old man in a grey suit.

‘Very nice show, Alex,’ congratulated the newcomer. ‘Thought it went very well.’

‘Oh thanks,’ said a rather deflated Alexander Harvey.

At that moment Walter Proud bustled up with Charles’ Bell’s and his own gin. He greeted the man in the grey suit effusively. ‘Nigel, great to see you. How goes it?’

‘Fine, fine,’ said the man in the grey suit.

‘You haven’t got a drink. What is it? Still the Campari?’

‘That’d be very nice, thank you.’

‘What about you, Alex? Lennie? Actually, Nigel, when I’ve got the drinks, I’d like to bend your ear for a moment about a couple of ideas.’

‘Fine, line.’ The man grinned vaguely as Walter disappeared into the bar scrum, then turned sharply to Alexander Harvey. ‘Who is that?’

‘Walter Proud. Used to be at the BBC.’

‘Oh yes, I’ve met him somewhere. He’s not with us at the moment, is he?’

‘Yes, three months’ contract. Meant to be coming up with ideas. Tonight was one of his.’ Alexander Harvey grimaced.

‘I see. I’ve got to go and talk to Paul over there. Excuse me.’ The man in the grey suit flicked Charles and Barber a professional smile and moved away with Alexander Harvey in tow.

Charles looked at the comedian quizzically. ‘He’s Nigel Frisch, Director of Programmes here and one very important person.’

Walter emerged from the scrum of drinks. ‘Oh, where did they go to?’ He handed a very large Scotch to Barber, who pointed to the other side of the bar. ‘I’ll take the drinks over. You know, Lennie, I’m really excited by what happened tonight. I think we’re on to something. I think we can get a show going, built round the old Barber and Pole routines — I mean, not just old stuff, get in some young writers, you know, give it a bit of edge, kind of revue format — we’d be on to a winner. It wouldn’t be just the nostalgia appeal, though that’s there. I reckon if you can present the public with a package that’s got nostalgia and is modem at the same time, then you’ve got to be on to a winner. Lennie Barber, I think you could be on the verge of the biggest comeback there ever was. Well, what do you say?’

Lennie Barber shrugged without changing his expression. ‘I say “Oh yeah?”’

‘Yeah. Certainly.’

‘Show me the contract and I might believe you.’

‘Well, at least sound a bit excited about it.’

‘If I got excited every time I heard a producer say I was on the verge of a comeback, I’d have dropped dead years ago. Once you’ve been an overnight success more than a couple of dozen times the novelty wears off.’

‘This time it’s for real. This one’s going to be big.’

‘Yeah, sure.’ Barber spoke as to a child. ‘You go and take those drinks over to your important friends.’ As Walter moved away, the comedian downed his Scotch in a single gulp.

‘Get you another one, Lennie?’

‘No, Charles. I haven’t got the cash with me to buy you one.’

‘Well, I can get it now, or lend you the money or — ’

‘Don’t like being in debt, sorry. No, I’ll go and join that little group over there round the director. Since I’m going to appear on the bugger’s expense claim whether he buys me a drink or not, I think he can get me one.’