Adieu Alberto Uderzo, co-creator of Asterix the Gaul

Amongst the furore and chaos of this surreal period in our history, a true legend passed away discretely this week, in Paris. Albert Uderzo, co-creator of Asterix and Obelix, the Gauls, was ninety-two. The son of Italian immigrants he was actually christened Alberto, due to his father’s inability to curtail his linguistic inclinations when speaking to the person recording his son’s name. He wanted to say Albert, but in his mind’s Italian ear, Albert was Alberto. Four decades later, in 1961, a legend was born. ‘Asterix the Gaul’, being the title of the first book published. Uderzo was the illustrator, René Goscinny, his creative partner, the “screenwriter” as it were.  Despite them being mere comic books, they have the feel of a film, without the sound or moving images, of course. Their aim was simple; it was to portray a quintessentially French story in an original way. By setting it amongst their ancestors, the Gauls, ‘les Gaullois’, with their -IX names – Asterix, Obelix, Getafix etc. - they knew no-one would miss the reference, the Roman invasion of Gaul being one of the first lessons French school children learnt in history class.  France itself, having been occupied by the Germans only twenty years previously - during the 2^nd world war - would have seen the allegory. That may or may not have been deliberate. The story of Roman colonization - which had a major significance in the development of modern France - was, of course, a very serious subject and had generally been treated that way. Their simple masterstroke of genius was to tell it with fun, humour and joy. 

    I discovered Asterix on my ninth birthday, in 1982. A friend of my Mum’s gave me a copy of Asterix and the Big Fight, the seventh to be written in the series. I was smitten. Through the years, I gradually acquired all twenty-five. There are some serious gems; Asterix and Cleopatra, Asterix in Britain, Asterix and the Normans. Impossible to pick a favourite; it’s like being asked to name your favourite Beatles song or Hitchcock film. I believe that thirty-eight have been published in total but for me it stops at twenty-five with Asterix and the Great Divide. Written by Uderzo, following the tragic death of Goscinny at only fifty-one, he was initially hesitant about continuing, as one would expect. The great divide story was actually inspired by the Berlin Wall and transported to a village in Gaul - divided by a ditch - with a Romeo and Juliet-esque sub-plot. This is serious stuff; it’s not the Beano that I grew up reading. Nothing against the Beano, of course. It is hard to over-estimate the global influence of these extraordinary creations. Translated into more than a hundred languages, numerous films spin-offs, a theme park and so on, the original books remain the most magical for me. The combination of humour, humanity and hyperbole with the seamlessness of Goscinny’s plots and Uderzo’s astonishing and iconic drawings, is spellbinding. They’re both goofy and sophisticated. Derivative, yet original. They parody national stereotypes and capture the essence of human nature in all its absurdity with a contemporary feel, despite the story taking place in the distant past. A little like Blackadder did. Goscinny and Uderzo, like Lennon and McCartney or De Niro and Scorsese, were born to work together; thank goodness the universe in its mysterious way, made it happen. The stories are educational too, covering everything from the Cleopatra and the Pyramids to the Romans conquering Britain, to the discovery of North America.  They make learning history fun. They should be part of the school syllabus but that would be far too radical for the visionless dullards who decide these things.

    I had probably read all of the first twenty-five by about the age of sixteen and didn’t think much about Asterix for a while. A few years later in my early twenties I went to live in Paris and the room I rented with a French family had clearly remained untouched since their grown-up son, Gerald – who remains my friend to this day – had left many years before. Entering my new surroundings, my first vision was an ashtray next to the bed. This was unusual I thought. How did they know I smoked? In fact, it wasn’t for me, it was for my landlord, Serge, whose non-stop smoking required an ashtray to be on hand at all times. Then I noticed the bookshelves. Low and behold, in front of me was Gerald’s collection of Asterix books, in the original French, of course, so I re-acquainted myself with these things of wonder, this time in their French native tongue - the very language I was studying and the reason I was there in the first place. Sometimes you just feel that luck is on your side. He also had the Tintin books which I’d never read, probably the ‘Bande Dessinée’ as all Francophones (Tintin is Belgian) call it, that comes closest to Asterix in terms of fame. I liked them too, I still do, but Asterix remains my favourite. Reading them, you get the sense of fun that René and Albert experienced creating them. Like all works of genius the seeming effortlessness in fact masks two master craftsman who spent decades honing their skills. And when they came together, magic was created. Merci Chers Messieurs Goscinny et Uderzo.  

Spring a small antidote to the surreal and tragic events unfolding.

"In the bowling alleys, in the easy living, something good got lost along the way."

Paul Buchanan, The Blue Nile, 'High'.

 I can't think of a song, offhand, that more aptly sums up these times than 'High', though it was actually written in 2004. Check it out, it actually is uplifting despite the truth of the words. Anyway, back to reality. I normally don’t care much for the sound of screaming children, but hearing the local primary school (a very small and very exclusive one, maybe that’s the real reason they’re so happy?) hollering away on their break with child-like abandon is refreshingly soothing. Granted if I were literally next door it may be less agreeable to my sensitive ears, but the nature of their positive energy is uplifting. They’re following their instinct, expressing themselves, living in the moment with a sense of joy, freedom and frivolity. They’re too young to be worn out by the latest calamity to manifest itself, this virus which is causing all kinds of bad things to occur. And too young to care. Maybe that’s the luxury of youth but regardless they are doing something which the rest of the world isn’t. They’re going a bit crazy in the best possible way. The majority of humanity, in contrast, is going totally crazy in the worst possible way. The exuberance I’ve heard today has much in common with the birds singing. Have you watched a bird sing? It’s equally full-on and equally instinctive. They’re really going for it. The Three Tenors had microphones; the birds have no need. Take the wren, for example; it’s a tiny bird, with an outrageously powerful singing voice.  

    The mild winter and spring (so far at least) have pushed nature’s plans forward a little. Blackbirds have been singing for at least a month and I saw a female yesterday gathering grass for her nest. I’ve seen bumble bees, on milder days, for at least a month now. The problem for a bee that awakes in February is that there’s no pollen, so they hopefully go back into hibernation, but I dare say this year a fair few perished when it got a bit colder again. Pink cherry blossoms are already present at least two weeks ahead of schedule. Buds on the trees, in general, have arrived early. Today is a delightful mid-March day, it’s not particularly mild, but the sun is warming with each passing day as it gets higher in the sky. After a more normal winter, days like these would feel quite radical; seeing bees for the first time - after five months of cold and drudgery – and hearing birds sing as nature awakes from its slumber. But this year the natural world has been led a merry dance by the unseasonal weather. It’s not been excessively mild much of the time, it seems to me, though the figures say otherwise, just consistently so. The word benign springs to mind, no pun intended. In Northern and Eastern Europe, it has been excessively mild, the USA too. The reason - for those of you who are interested - is a phenomenon called the Polar Vortex. It’s essentially a circle of cold air above the Arctic. This year it has refused to budge, making it incredibly cold there and incredibly mild throughout the rest of the northern hemisphere, Alaska aside, being right next to this pool of bitter air. It also creates an extremely powerful jet stream that’s made Western Europe very stormy as well. We’re in stormy times, literally and metaphorically, so the blue sky, the calm and the warmth of the sun are most welcome. As are the birds and their song, I must repeat. Only three or four have started where I am and mostly early in the morning: the robin, the blackbird, the thrush (both mistle and song) and the wren. But the dawn chorus is slowly building to its crescendo in May. Of course, it’s not merely warm temperatures that encourage the birds to start singing, it’s the light. The circadian clock, an internal meter, present in both mammals and birds, recognizes the longer days as a more reliable marker than warm temperatures. 

    More unusual visitors to the garden recently have included some long-tailed tits coming to the nut dispenser and the odd jay. Long tailed, like their blue, great and coal ‘cousins’, share the familiar tit attributes; being gregarious, vocal and colourful. With their extremely long - as logic would dictate - narrow and rectangular tail, they are unmistakable; like ‘a ball of wool on a knitting needle’, it has been described. They also have a unique trilling call and rarely appear alone, more often found in groups of several individuals, and sometimes with other tit species as well. They’re fairly common, especially when there is woodland nearby, so keep an eye out. The jay, one of my favourite birds, is actually a crow. This normally surprises people due to their strikingly beautiful plumage - a sort of pastel-pink, white, blue and black combination - a far cry from the classic black crow which is unlikely to win a beauty competition. Appearance aside, other than their aesthetically challenging call - common to all the Corvus species, a rather hysterical shriek - the main clue to their family tree is in their behaviour. They are highly clever like all crows. Chancers, furtive in their movement and very aware, they give the impression of always being on the make. Jays are more secretive than the more common black crows, however, and less approachable so your chances of being able to watch them are small if you don’t have a garden window to hide behind. They particularly like acorns so if there are oak trees in the vicinity, your odds of a sighting are higher. Again, once spotted, never forgotten.  

Granted, birds and birdsong cannot fix the world's problems directly, but it seems to me that they can - to a degree at least - change the way we react to them, the problems that is. That goes for the rest of nature too: Spring flowers appearing, "buzzing things" (thanks Baldrick) buzzing, a beautiful sunset. Nothing is forced, nothing done in panic. They just let it happen. The natural world can't itself build skyscrapers, make a tiramisu or play a great guitar solo, but it still has much to teach. If only we could pay a little more attention to it. And listen to the Blue Nile too!