Only Fools and Horses Was Dead: to Begin With

Fictional Reality – A Christmas Carol

Only Fools and Horses was dead: to begin with. That must be perfectly understood or nothing wonderful can come from this story.

David Jason himself had told the cast there’d never be another episode, and his word was as good as anything he chose to act upon. Tired and now irritated with the part, he’d shelved Del-Boy for good. His latter day parts were now his idols, he was as frosty as Frost and his ‘Quest’ was that Del-boy would never see the light of day again. Only Fools and Horses was as dead as a door-nail.

Ever mindful though, despite playing the part a mere handful of times in as many years, David was reminded of it constantly, wherever he went. And though he’d grown a beard, full and grey, and was fully buttoned and scarfed up against the winters cold, still came the cries as he walked now, along the Woolworth road on Christmas Eve.

“Oi, Del-boy!” came yet another playful voice, “where’s Rodney?”

David continued his walk, ignoring the man across the road, another poor fool. One more unfortunate loser who simply couldn’t let go of the past. He redoubled his steps, getting away as quickly as possible without looking back, he wanted to be alone with his own thoughts. He had a new series coming up, a fresh interest. He wanted to focus on that. He needed no distractions.

“Del-Boy!” Came another cry, this time the voice was in front of him.

David closed his eyes and cursed. “Bah, scumbag!” he uttered under his breath, preparing to give full vent to his feelings this time. But as he looked up he checked himself. There before him, silhouetted against the lamplight in the cold winters evening was John Sullivan. A physically cold yet inwardly warm John Sullivan, smiling and thrusting out a friendly arm in salutation.

David extended his own arm, though the offer was limp in comparison. Even so, John almost snatched it off one swoop, shaking it with vehemence and gusto with both of his.

“Great to see you!” he said, still shaking away with fervour, “fancy bumping into you David. Merry Christmas.”

David nodded and smiled feebly, hardly meeting his gaze. “Working on anything John?” he offered tamely.

John mentioned a few things he had in the pipeline but played them down somewhat. Whether they were bad ideas or not wasn’t clear. Besides, David didn’t look particularly bothered one way or the other anyway - checking and rechecking his watch he was clearly keen to get away.

“At this festive occasion,” said John, smiling excitedly as he thought of something, “I’ve started to put together another Christmas episode of Only…”

“Stop!” David shouted abruptly, raising his hands in indignant protest, “Before you go on any further, just stop.” He looked at John, raising his finger, “No more Del Boy!” he hissed, “I told you before.”

“But the people still want to see it,” argued John, “it’s as much a part of Christmas as….”

“Getting pissed?” David snapped. “Sorry,” he continued after a pause, “but it’s all in the past.” He looked directly at John now, “It’s over!” he added firmly.

“But the supporting cast?” John pleaded, “they rely on Christmas Fools and Horses.”

“What am I, a charity case?” interrupted David, “Are there no pantomimes they could be doing?”

“Plenty of pantomimes,” said John, rather abashed, “I wish I could say there were not.”

“And the OFAH convention?” demanded David, raising his eye-brows, “Still in operation?”

“Both very busy David.”

David was more genial now, smiling even. “Oh, I was afraid, from what you first said,” he went on, “that there was something that had stopped them in their useful operation.”

“But many don’t like panto David,” pleaded John, once again, “and some would rather die.”

“Well what has that got to do with me?” said David disdainfully, losing patience, “Or anyone else for that matter? If they would rather die then let them do it. Decrease the surplus actors union.” He looked up, his humour lightening for a moment, “get a bit more ‘equity’ for Equity, eh?”

David laughed dryly at his own humour. John looked at him sadly and shook his head.

“Take my card anyway,” he said resignedly, “and give me a call if you change your mind.”

Without pausing further to offer the compliments of the season other than the briefest of nods, John bent his head against the chill wind and continued on his way.

David watched after him, albeit briefly, then glanced at the card. He sneered, laughed scornfully and thrust it hastily it into his coat pocket. “Someone else stuck in the past,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head. He continued his walk home, “I’ll retire to Bedlam!”

By the time David finally arrived home he was in a foul mood, three more salutations for ‘Del-boy’ had been given as he walked the rest of the way. In his haste to be indoors he struggled in bad temper with the front door key and the latch, becoming even more impatient as he did so. The more he struggled, the more the door refused to give.

“A door saved my life once,” came a voice suddenly.

David was startled, the voice was familiar. He recoiled from the door and looked around. Who’d said that? He glanced around perplexed and watchful but there was nobody there. Now in more of a panic to get in he added the weight of his shoulder against the door. It gave way suddenly, yielding as easily as it had been resistant before. He stumbled inside and, shaking slightly, locked and bolted the doors behind him as quickly as his trembling fingers would allow him to. He saw a face reflected in the windowpane, a withered pace with a sickly smile. He turned in an instant to challenge any newcomer but the room was clearly empty. He breathed in deeply, regained his composure slightly and walked as calmly as he could into the lounge room. There, stood before him, was an unexpected sight indeed!

“All right Del-boy?” said Grandad.

David stared, transfixed at the figure of Grandad. So long since he’d seen him! So easily recognisable now, exactly as he had remembered him! The disgusting, all-purpose pyjama-tops notwithstanding, there were equal good measures of general neglect and bone-idle can’t-be-bothered-ness about his dress – all combining to produce that truly wonderful effect of overall shabbiness. The hat, a permanent fixture even indoors; the purposeless and stained ‘a la Albert Steptoe’ neckerchief (only Grandad’s was far shabbier); the grubby, buttonless cardigan, tied together with bits of string. Smiling inanely through the entire shambles was Grandad himself.

If he were not startled enough already, a glance to his right was even more disconcerting. Standing next to Grandad, smiling that daft, half-expectant smile of his was none less that Uncle Albert: Typically ‘un’resplendent in his tacky Navy slacks, his beard though as bushy and white as ever. David looked from one to the other in turn, trying to fathom some semblance of sense from the situation.

His confusion amused them both but Albert especially. He laughed his laugh, “her-her,” it came, his bald head wobbling like it does. “Her-her,” he laughed again.

David wanted to salute them in some way; he’d missed them both, but how? Should he call them by their real names? They were dressed in character and he didn’t wish to offend. Could you offend a ghost? he wondered. “But you’re dead!” he said simply, stuck for anything better to say.

“We’re the spirit of Christmas Fools and Horses past,” said Grandad, “we live on as long as people love and remember us.”

David nodded and smiled in acknowledgement but his look was uncomfortable.

“We’ve not been sent out of sentiment Del,” added Albert, “but you must rekindle your belief in yourself.”

David turned away, shaking his head vehemently.

“P’raps he don’t believe in us,” said Grandad, “p’raps he don’t believe in ghosties and ghoulies and things?”

“What a load of old cobblers!” snapped David.

“That’s more like it Del!” observed Albert, smiling knowingly as David turned and met his glance.

“Come on, Del. Rise, and walk with us,” pleaded Grandad, kindly.

“Where?” asked David.

“To your salvation and reclamation,” said Grandad.

Just as David went to protest against being patronised the room shook violently, before he could utter a word of question they’d passed straight through the walls and found themselves standing in The Nag’s Head public house. Rodney, Del, Grandad and Reg were playing cards at one of the tables.

“These are the shadows of things that have been, and have no consciousness of us,” reassured Grandad, “So until Hank Marvin gives us a tug we’ll keep on worrying shall we?” he added, smiling.

Del looked across to the table where Reg was dealing the cards.

“Rodney…Dad…Kimosabe!” The rest of the dialogue was drowned in the sound of audience laughter. Del looked around but there was no one else there, the laughter was coming from ‘nowhere’.

“Do you remember this one Del-boy?” asked Grandad.

“Well of course I do,” said David, “Thicker than water...” he thought for a moment, looking at Reg, “and I still say he looked nothing like me.”

“Nothing like you, you mean? Or Del-boy?’ probed Grandad, smiling again, “or both?”

“Oh, you know what I mean!” said David, waving him away.

“Just half hour specials in my day Del-boy. Sometime not even that. Remember this?”

David looked up and smiled as he beheld a youthful looking Rodney Trotter, talking to a vicar. “Christmas Trees,” he said, grinning, “I’d forgotten all about this one.”

“I have become dismayed,” said the vicar, “even shocked by the attitude of youth, but today you walked into this church and offered us this tree simply because you care. You have rekindled my faith in the human race.” He smiled. “It’s not nicked is it?”

They all laughed as they watched on.

“I weren’t in all that many Christmas Specials Del-boy,” said Grandad, “Your Uncle’ll take you through the others.”

“But you can stay for a bit though can’t you?” urged David hopefully. He made a grab at Grandad’s lapel but his hand went straight through and clutched at nothing. Grandad smiled.

“Please don’t go yet!’

Grandad smiled again and waved; his image began to fade slowly, he winked. He’d almost disappeared completely. “I’m orf nah, see ya later.” he said. Then he was gone.

David looked at Albert, slightly dejected, “Soppy old sod.” He said.

“Do you miss him Del?”

“Yes, er no,” David faltered, “listen, this is stupid. And quit calling me Del. Look! Del don’t exist. He’s made up. He’s a character.”

“If you say so Del.”

“Oh, give me strength someone will you. Spirit of bleedin’ Fools and Horses past!”

Albert ignored him. “This is the first one I was in, look.”

David turned reluctantly; he was in for another surprise. He looked around in astonishment. Now he found himself surrounded by sea, and all of a sudden lost his balance. He held his hand out instinctively to steady himself. He was on board The Inga.

“Robin Hood, Robin Hood, wiv his band o’ men….”

David looked over at his alter ego singing and smiled in spite of himself.

“Something of a favourite this one,” said Albert, looking up, “among the fans I mean.”

“Yes, it had something,” admitted David, “it was our first feature length.”

“Wasn’t so easy smuggling them diamonds.”

“No,” agreed David, laughing as he remembered something, “certainly not as easy as apple tart, eh?”

Albert smiled, nodded and indicated behind David’s shoulder. The routine was becoming more familiar to him now; he turned round slowly and, as he’d expected, found himself somewhere else. What he hadn’t expected was what he saw, a whole array of Del-boys before his eyes, spinning in a kaleidoscope of sound and as vision.

There was Del talking to the Duke of Maylebury; “…like the Mona Lisa, with the energetic smile, you don’t know whether she’s smiling or sucking a sweet.” The vicar from Trigger’s Cousin Lisa’s Wedding, “Has it received a whack of any kind?” Interspersed were other conversations with other characters: He saw an upset Rodney in a nightclub, “I’m gonna find a little bloke and have a fight.” Boycie explaining how Del got black-balled when joining the masons, “Put it this way Derek, have you ever seen the bottom of a rabbit hutch?” In the middle of them all was Tony from the Nag’s head, singing his rendition of Old Shep.

“Old Shep!” laughed David. “Hey, shouldn’t Grandad have been here for that one?”

“Grandad?” questioned Albert, “I thought he was just a character?”

David shook his head but was still smiling. “Yes, all right,” he said, “and I see yours has lost none of it’s craftiness!’

“This was my favourite Del.” Albert broke into a full military salute, as if he was honouring royalty, “I think it’s everyone’s classic.”

The sound of an explosion got David’s attention. “It’s the coach-busters!” said Mickey Pearce. Everybody’s talking at me played as all the jolly boys skylarked at the fair. And there was Mrs Creswell look! Scowling with her arms folded, then Rodney kicking the football; “…Ruud Gullet, nowhere.” The Great Raymondo doing a disappearing act, “You could do a lot worse than that!” he was told. “Chuck him on the back-seat?” said the indignant Boycie, “He’s the driver!” “I have not got a disease!” pleaded the desperate Denzil as the bell clanged and chimed out. “Unclean! Unclean!” it said. And Trigger was there too, of course he was. Wandering back and forth with his dolphin under his arm then looking for a motel as they wouldn’t know he didn’t have a car; Mike shaking hands with Eddie Chambers, and then washing his hands again; An assertive though mistaken Rodney, ‘running something by’ Steven. Landing himself in hot water ‘for sure’.

David laughed at the memories. “It didn’t get any better than this Unc,” he said with conviction, “which I think was half the trouble. How could we hope to keep it up to that standard?”

Albert smiled but didn’t answer.

“Well,” said David, shrugging his shoulders casually, “we were all very busy by then I s’pose, and once the series themselves were over it was never really quite the same.” He thought for a moment. “Perhaps we should have left it there?”

There was nothing for David to see now; the shadows of what had been were gone. Unconsciously, he fiddled with his fingers, still deep in his own thoughts. “At least,” he said at last, “we should have left it after the last Trilogy. After they got the money from the watch. We shouldn’t have brought them back after that. It should have been the end.” He nodded to himself in his own agreement but becoming conscious that he’d received no reply, turned to inquire for one. There was nobody there. “That’s the spirit ‘spirit’s’,” he laughed aloud, “you just leave me here with my own thoughts.” He smiled. “Gits!” he added. He looked around him, searching hopefully for a response. He looked behind him, then skywards; a final glance all around him once again. He was alone, no response was coming.

The longer he remained alone with his thoughts the more David was inclined to believe it was all an elaborate joke. “This has to be a wind-up,” he said aloud for his own benefit, “anything else would be plain ridiculous. What next?” he speculated in jest, “Trigger as the ghost of Christmas present?” He laughed at his own suggestion, “Is it gonna be you Trig?” he offered as a challenge, though there was clearly no-one there, “at least there might be a chance of getting called Dave!”

“You are advised,” came a voice suddenly, “that what you have seen and are about to witness is neither astrology nor fortune telling.”

David wheeled around but could see nothing. “Who’s there?” he asked.

“What you are about to see are the shadows of this Christmas,” said the voice, “there will be materialisation as well my gift of paranormal perception.”

“I know you,” said David, “you’re the woman who played Elsie Partridge.”

“You would do well to listen to advice you have already received,” warned the voice, “I will repeat again. We are the spirits of Only Fools and Horses. Our characters live in the spirit of those who believe in us still. Do you believe in us or not?”

“I do, I do,” stammered David, “I must.”

“Then tell me who I am.”

“You’re Elsie Partridge.”

As David said the words a ray of bent-sinister light shone across the room, highlighting the dust in its sheen. The light grew sharper and stronger, visibly paining David’s eyes. He squinted to see better. Gradually the light faded and there before him stood Elsie Partridge, just as he’d remembered her.