John Finnemore's Souvenir Programme series 9 episode 3

This is John Finnemore's Souvenir Programme.
[intro music]

Narrator: 2021: Aylesbury

Sam:
Hello, Mr Wilkinson?

Jerry:
Hello, hello, hello, hello!

Sam:
Oh, you're very cheerful.

Jerry:
I am, as who wouldn't be on a fine and framptious day like this? Look at you, all three dimensional and everything -- I'm Jerry by the way.

Sam:
Sorry, we're not supposed to shake hands.

Jerry:
Oh, no, no no no, of course not. Curse me for a fool. Anyway, I'm Jerry.

Sam:
I'm Sam.

Jerry:
Sam. Delighted to meet you, Sam.

Sam:
Oh, I really can't...

Jerry:
Oh! Oh, damn it. Sorry. It's got a mind of its own, this arm. Eleven months in Tokyo and I turned into Dr. Strangelove. I'm sorry. No doubt you're far too young to have heard of Dr. Strangelove.

Sam:
Oh, no. I love that film.

Jerry:
Oh, do you really? Oh, how pleasing! Marvellous, isn't it?

Sam:
Yeah, it's great. I love the MCU films. Although it's, um, it's just Doctor Strange, though. Not-- no "love".

Jerry:
No, I-- Oh! Yes, of course it is. Silly of me.

Sam:
Well, um, before we get to the vaccination--

Jerry:
For which, hooray! [laughs]

Sam:
Yeah, yes, before that I'd just like to ask you a few questions.

Jerry:
Yes, do! Oh, I would absolutely love that. Ask away. Quiz me.

Sam:
Are you currently suffering any symptoms of COVID 19 such as fatigue or a persistent dry cough?

Jerry:
Not me -- fit as a horse. Is it horse? No, dog. Fit as a dog? Surely not. Anyway, yes, I'm fine. Well, I mean, I'm not of course, I'm falling to pieces. But that's not the 'rona, that's just being 86.

Sam:
Thank you. Have you had any other vaccines in the last seven days, e.g. flu?

Jerry:
No. Do people? That seems very odd. Get a date for the 'rona vaccine and they get a flu jab a week earlier. I suppose in a way that makes sense? Like the way James Bond always killed the baddies in order of baddiness, building up to the Blofeld, or whomsoever as a finale. Anyway, the answer's no.

Sam:
Uh so I'm going to have to ask you to answer the rest a tiny bit more briefly if you can.

Jerry:
Absolutely. So sorry. Understood. Brevity will be the soul of... me... from here on in, starting now.

Sam:
Are you on anticoagulant therapy?

Jerry:
Uhhh no, but, what a marvellous word! "Anti" -- against, "coagulant" -- clotting? I suppose, but why would...? Oh, blood! Sorry, I was thinking of cream.

Sam:
Uh Jerry--

Jerry:
I [laughs] I am so sorry! You are the unwitting proverbial small Dutch boy who took his finger out of the dam and received a year's worth of pent up inane chatter in the solar plexus and I do realise I'm already doing it again! Enough! Mono syllables only from here on in, I swear it.

Sam:
Do you have any drug allergies?

Jerry:
No.

Sam:
Have you been part of any COVID trial?

Jerry:
No, although-- no!

Sam:
Oh, and the last two are just for women, so I--

Jerry:
Go on, ask me anyway.

Sam:
Are you breastfeeding?

Jerry:
No.

Sam:
Might you be pregnant?

Jerry:
No, I might not.

Sam:
Alright, that's all the questions. So if you'd just like to head on up to the next yellow spot, they'll call you through.

Jerry:
Thank you, Sam. You're a scholar and a gentle... person. It's been an absolute-- Oh, dammit, I've done it again. So sorry. Arm still on autopilot. Doctor Strangelo-- Doctor Strange strikes again. Anyway. Cheerio and a thousand thank you's.

Sam:
My pleasure, Jerry.

Jerry:
Butcher's!

Sam:
Hm?

Jerry:
Fit as a butcher's dog. I knew "dog" was wrong…

Narrator: 2008: Reading

Myra:
Okay, Dad, come through. Careful. Now, open your eyes.

[several at once]
Ta da!

Jerry:
Oh, my word! Haven't you done well!

Deborah:
So, that's all the bike stuff, in those boxes.

Jerry:
Yes, yes!

Benji:
And all of the manuals are sorted into "definitely throw", "probably throw", and what did we decide for the last one, Russ?

Russ:
"Please throw, but we know you won't throw."

Deborah:
Oh, and, Russ has also completely cleared the shed.

Jerry:
Oh!

Russ:
Yeah. I've just laid everything out here for you to check. Oh and word of advice, Granddad, if you're worried you don't have enough space, maybe don't store your beach inflatables blown up.

[several laughing]

Jerry:
What-- what have you done!?

Russ:
It's alright, I've--

Jerry:
Oh, you... cockers!!

Deborah:
Oh... Dad.

Russ:
What?

Benji:
Dad, I'm sorry, we can, we can put it all back.

Jerry:
No, not the books, the lino!

Myra:
The lino?

Deborah:
What lino?

Jerry:
The lino, the... the pool raft thing-- not lino.

Myra:
The lilo?

Jerry:
Yes! The lilo! I was... Oh... [long pause] [sigh] I was keeping that up.

Deborah:
Dad, what do you mean, keeping it up? Talk around it.

Jerry:
No, no, that's what I meant to say. It's all right, though. I'm– I'm– I’m so sorry, I shouldn't have sworn at you. Wilkos, I'm so sorry.

Russ:
Granddad, the lilo's fine. We just deflated it. I can blow it up again.

Jerry:
Yes, yes, I know. It's, it's just... well, it's just... your grandmother blew it up before. So it's... her...

[several one after the other]
Oh.

Benji:
Oh, Dad.

Russ:
Granddad, I'm so sorry.

Jerry:
No, no, no, no, nonsense. How could you have known? I, I should have said.

Deborah:
No, we should have asked.

Jerry:
No, of course not. "Oh, Dad, just before we deflate this, are you keeping the air for anything special?" And anyway, what was I keeping it for?

Russ:
I feel terrible.

Jerry:
Please don't! Oh, you, you've done me a favour. It was ridiculous of me. Wilkos, bunch! [hugging noise and sighs] Half a glass, eh? Half a glass.

Benji:
[laughing] Yeah, half a glass.

Jerry:
And you must please forgive me for swearing like that.

[several at once] Oh, of course.

Jerry:
Oh it's aggravating though -- I got through two years of national service and 20 years of parenthood without swearing and now I blow it on this.

Deborah:
If it helps, Dad? You really didn't swear.

Russ:
Yeah. Well, "cockers" is not... I mean, what is that?

[laughing]

Myra:
The worst you were doing was calling us spaniels.

[all laughing and agreeing]

Benji:
And we were. We were complete spaniels!

[laughing]

Narrator: 1991: Hook Norton

Jerry:
[echoing as if speaking into a microphone]

My Uncle Newt, that prince of men
lived out his three score years and ten
and then another score beside
and then nine more, and then he died.
A shame to miss his century? No.
I could hear his little cough
Ninety-nine is all very well
one hundred would be showing off.
A slippery fish was Uncle Newt.
Though newts and fish are not the same
and uncle is not strictly true.
And Newt of course was not his name.
His real name I never knew
and come to that, I still don't know.
Though living with him through the war,
I found out it began with O.
For on brown envelopes I read
in formal letters stiff and blank:
O. Nightingale. Oh, what a name!
A cry of Keats from Barclays bank.
And what a man he took me in,
a scared and lonely boy of four
and promptly set me writing rhymes
he promised me would win the war.
He paid a ha'penny per verse
on strict condition that they scan.
Such kindly busy work to give.
He little knew what he began.
Teacher, storyteller, friend.
Kindly, wise, absurd, astute.
Well, since you ask me for a toast:
O. Nightingale! O, Uncle Newt!

[several at once] Uncle Newt!

Narrator: 1985: Reading

Jerry:
Here we are.

Hilla:
Here we are. Good birthday?

Jerry:
Oh, superb. Five star.

Hilla:
Good. Well, good night.

Jerry:
Oh, good night. Uh...

Hilla:
Hm?

Jerry:
The uh, hm. Deborah's quiz.

Hilla:
Oh. Yes?

Jerry:
Well, broadly affectionate? in tone? would you characterise it as?

Hilla:
Yes, of course!

Jerry:
Yes. Yes. Wrong word, of course, affectionate. But, uh... heartfelt, also?

Hilla:
What do you mean?

Jerry:
Well... deeply felt truths?

Hilla:
Oh, I see. No, darling. She was just teasing you.

Jerry:
Mm I mean everyone laughed very hard though, didn't they? Cathartically, you might say.

Hilla:
No, I wouldn't. It was fun. They were just... enjoying the fun.

Jerry:
And they were very good at it. The others. The quiz, I mean. The "what would Dad say?" round especially. Very high scoring.

Hilla:
Well, they know you well.

Jerry:
Hm. I was surprised though. I honestly didn't know I said those things so much. "Onwards and upwards", I suppose I do. But some of them I barely-- I mean, "sack the juggler", for instance. I'm sure I have said it, but I wouldn't have thought above a half a dozen times in my life?

Hilla:
Every time, darling. Every single time anyone has ever smashed a thing for 30 years, you have said "sack the juggler."

Jerry:
Really?

Hilla:
Oh, yes. And for maybe five years, I didn't know the word "juggler". I thought "sack the juggler" was a sort of English "gesundheit" but for breaking things.

Jerry:
Oh dear.

Hilla:
It's alright. We don't mind -- we like it. They laugh because it's nice to know what someone will say.

Jerry:
Mm, in principle. Still... it's a bit of a jar to find one's become a predictable old fart without noticing.

Hilla:
[laughs sharply] Oh, Jerry -- predictable? You are not predictable. Maybe sometimes we know what you might say. But never do we know what you're going to do.

Jerry:
Really?

Hilla:
Darling, this year you spent three months trying to train crows to bring you batteries.

Jerry:
And they did!

Hilla:
Yeah, I know they did. Well one of them did. Just saying, we didn't see that coming.

Jerry:
I suppose not. Alright. Thanks, old girl. Good night.

Hilla:
Good night.

Jerry:
Sleep tight.

Jerry and Hilla:
Don't let the bed bugs bite.

Jerry:
Oh, that doesn't count!

Narrator: 1969: Soho

Soho Systems man:
So Jerry, I gather at last we get to hear the famous secret project.

Jerry:
Oh, well if you'd prefer to wait till Monday there's still a couple of--

Soho Systems woman:
Aw, come on, Jerry.

Jerry:
Well, all right. Here it is.

Jerry:
[music starts] [singing]
Gather 'round and hear the tale
of Angeline the nightingale
who sang so sweetly through the steely night, tralala
but in the day our Angeline
pursued a rather different dream
for dog impressions were her true delight
so she sang

Female singer:
Woof woof woof goes the wolfhound
Arf arf arf barks the chow
the basset hound howls ow ow ow
the big borzoi replies bow wow

Jerry:
It wasn't easy for a nightingale
for basset hounds sing basso as you know, tra la la
she gargled gravel, spent a night in jail
but still she couldn't get that low
and then at last she saw a sign
for Soho Systems Sound Design
and thought she'd see what modern tech could do
She flew into our studio
in Soho Square 2-7-0
and with our help all Angie's dreams came true
And she sang

Female singer:
[deep voice] Woof woof woof goes the wolfhound
Arf arf arf barks the chow
the basset hound howls ow ow ow
the big borzoi replies bow wow.

Jerry:
[to the tune of A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square] And a nightingale barked in Soho Square.

Soho Systems man:
Yes. Right.

Soho Systems woman:
Well, it's great fun, Jerry.

Jerry:
Thank you.

Soho Systems man:
It is fun. I would say... it takes rather a while before you mention the company.

Jerry:
Ah, yes. Yes. Wilco and understood. I can shorten the beginning.

Soho Systems man:
Well, in that case... let's give it a go!

Jerry:
Oh, super!

Soho Systems woman:
Oh, but you'll need to lose the Berkeley Square bit at the end.

Jerry:
Oh really? Why?

Soho Systems man:
Yes, of course. We can't have any copyright music -- costs a bomb.

Jerry:
Ah.

Soho Systems man:
What?

Jerry:
Well, I don't, I don't want to, but I can't help feel I should probably mention -- the whole thing is based on an old Midnight & Noone song. Oh, well, I had fun.

Narrator: 1966: Reading

Jerry:
Hello, old girl.

Hilla:
Mm hm?

Jerry:
You reading?

Hilla:
No no, just watching this book in case it tries anything.

Jerry:
Yes, right you are. I'll leave you in peace.

Hilla:
You won't.

Jerry:
Ah, what are we doing for dinner?

Hilla:
Something with eggs.

Jerry:
Oo, crikey. How intriguing. Shall I guess?

Hilla:
No, I mean, I don't know what, but it must have eggs -- the eggs need eating.

Jerry:
Ah yes, with you. Well, then by all means, let's eat them. Omelette?

Hilla:
Hmm...

Jerry:
Or pancakes! Do you fancy pancakes?

Hilla:
Hmm yes.

Jerry:
Righto!

Hilla:
Oh, no, I forgot!

[kazoo fanfare] [children running and hollering]

Hilla:
Omelette! Let's have omelettes!

Jerry:
No, I'm sorry, old girl. I've blown it now.

Deborah:
Has he woken?

Myra:
Has he woken?

Benji:
Is he awake?

Deborah and Myra:
Has he woken?

Benji:
Has he woken, I-I-I meant.

[kazoo fanfare]

Jerry:
The Keeper of the Cakes of Pan awakens from his ancient sleep.

Children:
Blessings be upon the Keeper and upon the cakes he keeps!

Jerry:
Where now art his acolytes, sworn to give him aid thisday?

Children:
His acolytes are now assembled here in glorious array!

Jerry:
Great. Who art the Flour Sifter?

Myra:
I am the Flour Sifter, subtle sifter of the flour!

Jerry:
Ahh. Who art the Egg Man?

Benji:
I am the Egg Man, reckless wrecker of the eggs.

Jerry:
Ahh. Who art the Tosh Chronicler?

Deborah:
I am the Tosh Chronicler, careful chronicler of the tosh!

Jerry:
Ahh. Who art the Flipster?

Hilla:
... I'm reading a book.

Benji:
Mutti!

Deborah:
Come on, Mutti, join in!

Hilla:
I will join in. I'm here, aren't I? I'll do the flipping flipping. I'm just not doing all the flipping chanting.

Benji:
You've got to do the chanting, Mutti, the chanting's part of it!

Jerry:
Hush, reckless Egg Man! Who art thou, a mere and miserable man of eggs, to tell the Flipster how to flip? Forget not this: any of us might wreck the eggs or sift the flour. Some of us could even chronicle the tosh -- though none so neatly as Deborah. But without the Flipster to do the flipping flipping, we are dished and done. You see what happens when I try.

Benji:
Ha ha! Yes, Dad!

Deborah and Myra:
[whisper] Keeper of the Cakes of Pan.

Benji:
I-I-I... Keeper of the Cakes of Pan!

Jerry:
Very well! Then be it known that when the time comes for the Flipster to flip, it pleases her to do so in mute and terrible silence. Until then she'll read her book.

Deborah:
Keeper of the Cakes of Pan?

Jerry:
Uh yes, tiny chronicler?

Deborah:
Is this just for this time, or shall I amend the rights?

Jerry:
Flipster, what say you?

Hilla:
No, just this time. Sometimes I like the chanting.

Narrator: 1960: Long Buckby

Jerry:
Mum, did Grandma and Auntie Gall ever make any records?

Vanessa:
Oh, no, I don't think so. Not that I ever heard of. Why?

Jerry:
Well, I just thinking what a pity it is if their songs are lost.

Vanessa:
Yes, I suppose so.

Jerry:
You don't seem terribly moved. [chuckle]

Vanessa:
Well, it's no burning of the Library of Alexandria. I'm not sure they were fearfully good.

Jerry:
Do you remember any?

Vanessa:
Oh, ah... Well there was "The Fellow with the Cello", of course. That was their signature song.

Jerry:
Oh, excellent. How did it go?

Vanessa:
Well, well now, I couldn't really say. The main thing I recall is Aunt Gally did this wonderful lugubrious face, sawing away at her cello, but the song itself... Uh... [vaguely singing] I'm the fellow with the cello doo doo doo doo doo doo... Does that help?

Jerry:
Oh, enormously. Uh... any others?

Vanessa:
Oh dear, um... I was very young, you know? Oh, oh, of course! [laughs] Oh, there was um...

Jerry:
Yes?

Vanessa:
Oh dear. It's really awfully silly. [singing] Woof woof woof goes the wolfhound, arf arf arf barks the chow? The some... other breed of dog, I forget -- howls ow ow ow. The big borzoi replies bow wow. It's.... well it's funny the way Aunt Gally did it. Oh, and did I say, it's a nightingale singing it?

Jerry:
Ah! No, you-- you missed that out.

Vanessa:
Yes, I think so. Anyway, something like that. Really, my dear, it was a very long time ago.

Narrator: 1957: Kentish Town

Hilla:
Oh, you want more? I thought you'd had enough.

Jerry:
Ah, but she's ready for her pudding now. Aren't you, Debbie? Debbie wants her pudding.

Hilla:
All right. Hang on. [Deborah making noises] Yes, yes, I know. Save me the raspberries of impatience.

Jerry:
[laughs] The Raspberries of Impatience -- the disappointing sequel to The Grapes of Wrath.

Hilla:
[laughs]

Jerry:
Oh, tell you what, that's a cracking lyric actually. Save me the raspberries of impatience.

Hilla:
Well don't you want it?

Jerry:
[piano playing] [singing] Save me the raspberries of impatience. You can have the mango of ennui.

Hilla:
Come on now.

Jerry:
Perhaps we can share the melancholy pear... or the duh-DUH-duh of despair. Hilla, what's a duh-DUH-duh fruit?

Hilla:
Um, a pineapple?

Jerry:
No, not DUH-duh-duh -- duh-DUH-duh.

Hilla:
Oh, uh... banana!

Jerry:
Yes! [singing] Perhaps we can share the banana of despair. But the raspberries of impatience are for me. Save me the raspberries of impatience. You know you're the apple of my eye...

Hilla:
Oh, very nice.

Jerry:
Thank you. [singing] And if we combine your fruit and mine... uh

Hilla:
[singing] We can bake a lovely mixed emotions pie.

Jerry:
Yes! Bravo! Oh, God, I love you.

Hilla:
I love you too.

Narrator: 1954: Bad Oeynhausen

Hilla:
Guten Morgen.

Jerry:
Uh... uh, Guten Morgen. Uh, sprechen sie Englisch?

Hilla:
Mm, I teach English.

Jerry:
Oh, do you? Well thank you, I think I probably don't need lessons. But if we could speak it, that would be super.

Hilla:
Can I help you?

Jerry:
Oh, well, you see this mark on my hand?

Hilla:
Yes?

Jerry:
Well, I was wondering if by any chance you sold the stamp that made it, or could make a stamp that would make it, if you follow?

Hilla:
I don't follow.

Jerry:
Well look, I'll tell you the whole thing. You see in the first place, I'm from the British army base.

Hilla:
Mm, I thought you probably were.

Jerry:
Not my idea, you understand, joining the army. I was against it. But they insisted. Seemed to feel the British army would be sadly incomplete without me. A curious idea which I'm sure they're now thinking better of.

Hilla:
Of which they are now thinking better. You do need a lesson.

Jerry:
[laughs] Yeah, fair enough. Well, on Wednesdays, the army's idea of fun is for us to run 20 miles across country to a corporal in a little hut who stamps your hand with a little rubber stamp and then for us to run back again. And this seems to me rather unnecessary. So I investigated buses and bicycles -- nothing doing. And then I thought, "I wonder where they get the little rubber stamp?" And I wondered if it might be from you.

Hilla:
Let me see again? Mmm it's not one of ours.

Jerry:
Ah. Rats.

Hilla:
But my father could easily make one up.

Jerry:
Ah! Anti rats. [laughs]

Hilla:
But why should he help you?

Jerry:
Well, yeah, I suppose if it comes down to it, I thought money would probably change hands.

Hilla:
And for the price of a rubber stamp you expect him to help a British soldier?

Jerry:
Oh, I see. Is he still a bit sore you lost the war?

Hilla:
No, Solomon Goldfarb is not sorry Germany lost the war. But he also hates the British base and all the rude drunken soldiers in it and so do I.

Jerry:
Well, you could try selling it to him as sticking it to the British army by foiling its plans to get Private Wilkinson a little fitter. That's, that's me by the way, Jerry. Hello.

Hilla:
I think a cross country run would do you good.

Jerry:
Yes, a lot of people make that mistake. They were always doing it at school too. People look at me and think I could do with having the corners knocked off me, but in actual fact, not so. My corners are actually my best bits.

Hilla:
[laughs]

Jerry:
Then you'll help me?

Hilla:
I will do nothing for you. But I think my father will make your silly stamp.

Jerry:
Ah, no, but I need you too, you see. It's no good me trying to sneak pads and ink and whatnot in and out of camp. So what I need is someone to meet me on Wednesday afternoons, stamp my hand for me, and then perhaps to thank you? I could take you for a walk.

Hilla:
How's it thanks to go for a walk? A walk is free.

Jerry:
I would say take you to the pictures but I'm afraid I don't have enough cash for the rubber stamp and tickets.

Hilla:
Well, it doesn't matter anyway. I'm here in the shop all day on Wednesdays.

Jerry:
Oh, alright! Saturday, then!

Hilla:
But you don't have your run on Saturday.

Jerry:
No, you see the beauty of the scheme -- on Saturday, I won't need the stamp. So I can buy us tickets to the pictures.

Narrator: 1945: Coventry

Jerry:
Hello, is that you Mummy?

Vanessa:
Oh, hello there, Jerry, darling. How's tricks?

Jerry:
Are you alright in there?

Vanessa:
Well, tolerably.

Jerry:
I say, you look just like the Invisible Man!

Vanessa:
Can one look like the Invisible Man?

Jerry:
When he was all wrapped in bandages, I mean.

Vanessa:
Oh, was he? I didn't know. Then, yes! One sees the resemblance. By the by -- I'm not so fearfully bashed up as the bandages may make it seem. They're mainly just to hold things in place.

Jerry:
Oh yes, they explained all that before I came in. Mummy, were you really hit by a bridge?

Vanessa:
Really and truly. Why, did you think I was putting it on?

Jerry:
Oh, no. I just thought perhaps “bridge” was code for something, like a bomb.

Vanessa:
Not this bridge. This bridge was a bridge.

Jerry:
But how can you be hit in the head by a bridge? It's such a big thing not to see coming.

Vanessa:
Mm, not if you're looking the other way. Doesn't make any noise, you see.

Jerry:
Oh, yes, there's that I suppose. Did they put silver in your head?

Vanessa:
No, not to my knowledge. Whatever made you think so?

Jerry:
One of the masters at school has had his head all fixed up. And he says they used silver. You can't see it now -- the silver, but you can see where it is because the hair doesn't grow. Will-- will your hair grow?

Vanessa:
They haven't told me it won't. Rather jolly if it doesn't though. Think of the saving in brushes!

Jerry:
Are brushes expensive?

Vanessa:
Oh crushingly! Was he hit by a bridge then, your master?

Jerry:
No, I don't think anyone ever has been except you. He says Jerry gave it to him, meaning the Germans, that is, not me. He doesn't know I'm called Jerry. No one does. They don't ask and you're not supposed to say -- they all think I'm called Wilkinson.

Vanessa:
And so you are called Wilkinson, darling.

Jerry:
Well, yes, but not really. Really I'm Jerry. I mean, when I talk to myself, I don't say, "Buck up, Wilkinson!" I say, "Come on, Jerry." So... are you coming home off the boats for good now?

Vanessa:
Yes, I should think so. I'll come home and look after Daddy and Daddy's going to look after me.

Jerry:
And who's going to look after me?

Vanessa:
No one. You'll be left to look after yourself like a little savage.

Jerry:
Can't I carry on living with Uncle Newt?

Vanessa:
Would you sooner live with him than us?

Jerry:
Well, no...? But he's teaching me to write poetry. And I should hate to leave before I'm done. I'm going to be a poet when I grow up, like Kipling or Ogden Nash or Uncle Newt.

Vanessa:
Ah, the big three.

Narrator: 1943: Spetwith

Newt:
All right, before we begin, anything for the ditty box?

Jerry:
Yes!
Our baby is an ugly kid.
His head is bald, his face vermilion.
But give him a cigar to suck,
and all at once, he's quite Churchillian.

Newt:
[laughs] Oh very nice! Tell ya what -- strike "he's quite", sub "he looks".

Jerry:
Wilco!

Newt:
Otherwise, jolly decent. Catch!

Jerry:
Oh!

Newt:
Now then. This is, of course, not your official birthday.

Jerry:
No.

Newt:
No. You shall have that in December when your mother and father are both home on leave. This is your unofficial birthday.

Jerry:
But it is my real birthday.

Newt:
Officially, no. Unofficially... possibly. Cannot confirm. Loose lips sink ships. However, I do have two small presents for you.

Jerry:
Ah!

Newt:
Here's the first.

Jerry:
Thank you! [paper rustling] Oh, thank you. Did you make it?

Newt:
No, no, I'm afraid not. Truth to tell, I found it at the back of a drawer. But you see, the gift is not so much the hooter affair itself as what happens when you blow it.

Jerry:
What happens when you blow it?

Newt:
Oh, I've no idea. And of course there's no way of finding out.

Jerry:
Oh! [kazoo fanfare]

Newt:
Well, since you have summoned me to celebrate Jeremy Wilkinson's life with a paean of praise --
Jeremy Wilkinson, boy for all seasons
from conkers in autumn to swimming in spring
hobbies, achievements, so many and various
O muse of poetry, now let us sing.
Jeremy Wilkinson, friend of humanity
put up the blackouts for old Mrs. Moore.
Tireless cadger of saucepans for Spitfires
can't be long now till he wins us the war.
Jerermy Wilkinson, promising pianist
firm with the left hand, loud with the right.
Just let him loose on the William Tell Overture
that's when you'll know that you've been in a fight.
Jeremy Wilkinson's shrapnel collection
viewed by his rivals with envious eyes.
How very cunning to pick a collection
where daily new specimens rain from the skies.
Jeremy Wilkinson, grizzled old veteran,
eighth of October, an auspicious date.
This is the day that, at least unofficially,
he stops being seven and starts being eight.
Jeremy Wilkinson, famously courteous
to please his old uncle will now close his eyes.
Sadly his mother is stuck on a narrowboat
somewhere near Stratford... or is she?

Vanessa:
[door opening] Surprise!

Jerry:
Mummy!

[outro music]
John Finnemore's Souvenir Programme was written and performed by John Finnemore with Margaret Cabourn-Smith, Simon Kane, Lawry Lewin, and Carrie Quinlan. Original music was composed by Susannah Pearse and arranged by Tim Sutton. The producer was Ed Morrish and it was a BBC Studios production.

Narrator: 1943: Spetwith

Newt:
And so Jack returned in triumph to the village, and his mother wept tears of joy, and the villagers sang paeans of praise. The end.

Jerry:
[clapping] What's paeans?

Newt:
A paean is a long poem about how wonderful you are.

Jerry:
Oh, can I have one?

Newt:
Not now. Maybe for your birthday.

Jerry:
Aww alright. Good night.

Newt:
Good night. Sleep tight.

Jerry:
Don't let the bedbugs bite.