Ambridge

 

In that liminal period between the end of childhood and the onset of adolescence, a neighbour in the import/export business, who had contacts in parts of the world most people couldn’t place on a map, suggested I write to the daughter of his business partner in Chile. We corresponded for a year or two until puberty hit and I felt the need for a more tangible girlfriend. 

Penfriends communicated using flimsy blue airmails which did not permit enclosures so I never received a photograph of her and my parents would not countenance international phone calls. So other than the monthly letters (which might even have been composed by her parents) I had no evidence of her existence - nevertheless she felt as real as my best friend who lived next door. 

Even before AI started to blur the boundaries of perception with bots and fake videos, how were we certain that the people we only met via Zoom or email were real? The concept and manifestation of ‘reality’ is mutable. The existence of long-dead historical figures is validated only by the unreliable recollections of biased contemporary chroniclers, while fictional characters - Scrooge, for instance - are cherished in our collective consciousness despite the absence of corporeal existence.

Devotees of arcane pursuits may attract bafflement, but special disdain is reserved for fans of the radio soap The Archers. But to its adherents, two qualities of the serial (in addition to its endurance over more than seven decades) stand out. First, its commitment to faithfully aligning the passage of fictional time with real time and, second, its obsession with seasonal markers: the annual flower and produce show, the Christmas pantomime, the cider club, all necessary adjuncts to populate a daily account. And when actors inconveniently die, rather than devise improbable plot lines to justify their character’s absence, they can be slyly replaced - a feat which unfortunately cannot be replicated off air. These features and especially the attention to detail (obsessive followers will shame scriptwriters by pouncing on continuity flaws) enhance listeners’ intimacy with the characters, plot lines and location.   

The Archers began life conveying thinly veiled government messages about agricultural best practice in post-war Britain. The farming theme has never been far from the core from the development of Bridge Farm as an early exemplar of organic husbandry to recent references to the uses and threats of artificial intelligence. But it is perhaps addressing, indeed confronting, social issues and changing mores that has kept the programme relevant even to urban audiences. The coercive control saga of Helen and Rob, aired to coincide with new legislation on that topic, the traumas associated with same sex relationships in small communities and the impact of illegal drugs distributed through ‘county lines’ are recent examples of how story lines reflect preoccupations relevant to modern audiences. 

The skill and sensitivity with which these issues are explored, and in some cases their elevation to the status of modern-day fables, is attested to by the formal academic study of The Archers. Since 2016, Academic Archers (https://www.academicarchers.net/) has hosted annual conferences. Befitting the nature of the material and the faint absurdity of scrutinising fictional characters, events and locations, the spirit of the conferences is an engaging mix of intense seriousness and indulgent whimsy. Matters discussed range from the geography of Ambridge (situated somewhere in Worcestershire) to the role of so-called ‘silent characters’ (our sole evidence of the existence of the chauffeur and handyman Higgs was when we heard a splash as he jumped into the Grey Gables swimming pool) to the impact of mortality (most controversially Nigel Pargetter’s untimely demise).

Most of our interpersonal interactions are contingent, unpredictable and fragile. The acquaintanceships we form with neighbours and the companionship of work colleagues arise through physical proximity and consequently are inherently transient. Distance and time constraints may mean we meet our dearest friends rarely, with Christmas cards blithely promising reunions in the new year. Blood relatives are only reliably encountered at weddings and funerals. 

But for those of us whose lives are enmeshed in the trivia, triumphs and tragedies of Ambridge six days a week and who have followed the lives of several generations of the central families, life in Borsetshire has a continuous presence, comforting and challenging in equal measure, unmatched by many real life relationships.