The Garden of Unearthly Delights (9 page)

‘That’s
not quite how I would have put it,’ said Maxwell. ‘But it is in essence
correct.’

‘And I
would get one of these?’

‘Well,’
said Maxwell, ‘I don’t see why not.’

‘The
mayor has a most attractive daughter,’ said the zany, ‘or so I’ve heard, anyway.’

‘That’s
settled then,’ said Maxwell. ‘Now listen to what I have in mind. Picture, if
you will, a year from now. Imagine, as I have, a network of news gatherers
covering the country. An information supertrackway.

Each
town and village with its own permanent TV set. You at the head of a mighty
organization dedicated to education and instruction, to engender progress, to
raise standards. To—’

‘Hold
hard,’ cried the news teller. ‘Although wildly ambitious, there is much here to
inspire one of noble calling such as myself,
but
I spy a very large flaw
in your concept.’

‘Which
is?’

‘Which
is, who is going to pay for all this? The takings from the contributions sacks
could at best support only the news teller and his crumpet. Who would pay these
seekers after news who must scour the countryside?’

‘You
would,’ said Maxwell. ‘Out of the huge revenues you would receive.’

‘Huge
revenues? From what?’

Maxwell
grinned his winning grin. ‘Have you ever heard of something called a TV
commercial?’ he asked.

5

Over what was possibly the
first business lunch to be held in nearly one hundred years, Maxwell explained
the principle of advertising and the power of the TV commercial.

‘The
substance of the thing is this,’ said Maxwell. ‘You are a respected man, are
you not?’

Dayglo
Hilyte nodded proudly and munched upon a parsnip.

‘You
represent authority, someone who can be trusted.’

‘I
pride myself upon this.’

‘So if
you were to recommend a specific product, for instance, one particular baker’s
bread, which you considered superior to that of his rivals, your viewing
public would respect your opinion.’

‘I
should expect nothing less.’

‘Is
there anything in this town you would recommend to me?’

Dayglo
pursed his lips. ‘The apothecary at the end of the river lane produces a most
efficacious laxative.’

‘Hm,’
said Maxwell. ‘But all right. So if you were to approach the apothecary and
tell him that for a small fee you would be prepared, during one of your broadcasts,
to sing the praises of his laxative—’

‘Sing?’
Dayglo fell back in horror.
‘Sing?’

‘Only a
turn of phrase.
Recommend
then, to your viewing public, thereby creating
what is known as “product awareness”. Folk who heard your recommendation, who
trusted you, would thereafter purchase their laxative from this apothecary.’

‘But
they would anyway. He is the only apothecary in town.’

Maxwell
sighed. ‘There is more than one baker’s shop.

‘Agreed.’

‘And
more than one grocer, and more than one tavern and more than one inn and more
than one butcher—’

‘Aha,’
said the zany. ‘I follow this reasoning. If, for a small fee, Mr Hilyte was to
broadcast that “Bulgarth the butcher’s beef is the best”, then folk who
previously purchased their beef elsewhere, might be persuaded to shop at
Bulgarth’s instead.’

‘You
have it,’ said Maxwell. ‘For the small fee Bulgarth has paid you, his trade
increases manyfold.’

‘I see
a problem here,’ said Dayglo Hilyte. ‘What of the other butchers who now lose
trade?’

‘This
brings us to what is called “the spirit of healthy competition”,’ Maxwell told
him. ‘For example, I myself have looked into the window of Leibwitz. His hams
appear eminently superior to those of Bulgarth.’

‘I see
it, I see it,’ said Dayglo. ‘Thus for a small fee from Leibwitz, I would
recommend the quality of his hams.

‘Precisely.
And soon each butcher will try to improve the quality of his meat. Each will
seek your endorsement of this improved quality. Trade will increase for all,
as you spread the word and folk rush to sample the improved products. The buyer
will receive better meat. The butchers will enjoy greater custom. You accrue
more fees. All are ultimately satisfied. Thus is financed the entire grand
scheme.’

‘There
is sound logic to this,’ said Dayglo, shaking Maxwell by the hand. ‘I should
have thought of it myself.’

‘You
are the eminent and noble news teller. Jam the
imagineer. And
this
is how we go about it.’

And
this
Maxwell now explained.

‘I
shall undertake the job of news gatherer,’ he said. ‘I will interview folk of
the town, learn what is to be learned, cross-referenced to ensure clarity and
lack of bias. I shall seek out and document all I can of recent events and
events yet to come; fêtes, fairs, weddings, funerals; anything that might
coalesce into worthy news, to be of interest and instruction.’

Hearing
this, the zany now volunteered to take on the role of advertising rep, visiting
all the local business premises to explain the new scheme and solicit fees
from anyone who wished to have their products endorsed in the first commercial
break.

‘Excellent,’
said the news teller. ‘Then I shall dedicate myself to the thankless task of
selecting a suitable news crumpet.

‘Shortly,’
said Max, with a knowing smile. ‘But first I suggest you visit the nearest
carpenter’s shop and commission the building of a spectacular new two-person TV
set.’

‘They
will want a down payment,’ said the news-teller, gloomily.

Maxwell
shook his head. ‘By no means. Outline our grand scheme to them. Stress that
many TV sets will need to be constructed in the future. Stress also the
prestige of their name being emblazoned across the front of every one.’

The
news teller now shook
his
head. ‘Is there nothing you have not thought
of?’ he asked.

‘Nothing,’
Maxwell said.

But on
this surmise he was incorrect. Because here a spanner, or more aptly a chisel,
introduced itself into the otherwise smooth-running works: the news teller,
having scuttled off to the carpenter’s shop, shortly returned with some
discouraging ‘news.

‘They
will supply the wood free of charge, but not the labour,’ he said.

‘No
matter,’ said Maxwell, as ever optimistic. ‘Accept the wood with thanks, then
construct the TV yourself.’

‘What?’
The news teller stepped back in outrage. ‘Surely all hinges upon my reputation
and social standing. I cannot descend to the humble role of carpenter. The
zany must build it.’

‘Would
that I could,’ said the zany. ‘But I must solicit fees, without which the
project cannot be financed. Max must build it.’

‘Gladly,’
said Maxwell. ‘But I must gather news. Without news there
is
no
project.’

‘I have
a suggestion to make,’ said the zany. ‘Clearly Mr Hilyte must remain aloof from
manual labour in order to preserve his dignity and esteem. Why should I not
gather news as I do my rounds of the business premises? Mr Hilyte could
accompany me, showing his face as it were, absorbing news—’

‘And
interviewing likely candidates for the position of news crumpet,’ said Mr
Hilyte.

“Then
you’, the zany told Maxwell, ‘could use your imagineering skills to great
advantage, designing and constructing the new two-person TV set.’

Maxwell
chanced a thoughtful scratch at his head and a wonderful vision swam into his
mind.

‘Rock
‘n’ Roll,’ said Maxwell. ‘Rock ‘n’ Roll.’

And so
began a week of much industry on the part of Maxwell, the news teller and his
zany. It had been agreed that the first two-person commercial newscast would be
scheduled for
six o’clock
on
the coming Saturday night. Maxwell laboured long into each night on the
construction of the TV set. It was to be a thing of great beauty and he
lavished much tender loving care upon its every detail.

The
news teller and his zany went about their sides of the business with
considerable vigour and although Maxwell wished to consort with them each day,
regarding what news had been gathered and what advertising commissions
received, their paths rarely crossed his and Saturday drew ever close.

On
Friday night the news teller did happen by for a moment, but only to try out
his seat in the TV and insist upon an additional feature or two being added.

This is
the most amazing thing I have ever seen,’ he told Maxwell, who grinned proudly
as the news teller scuttled off with talk of a pressing meeting with the mayor,
concerning proposed improvements to the town’s sewage system, which Dayglo
considered worthy news.

On Saturday Maxwell rose
before dawn. Such was not the normal way with him, as he preferred to begin his
mornings at a more civilized hour. But today was special. If all went well
today he would have done his part in bringing a new age to this new age. He
might well be written up in future books of history.

Throughout
the week he’d hardly left the yard of the carpenter’s shop, where he had been
constructing the TV set. Now he flung wide the gate and applied himself to
dragging his brainchild, shrouded as it was by a canvas cover and mounted upon
wooden trolley wheels, out into the square. It was somewhat weightier than he
had accounted for and by the time Maxwell reached the centre of the square he
had a fine sweat on and was panting not a little.

But
this was the moment.
His
moment.

As the
sun began to rise, he tore aside the canvas and positioned the TV set ‘just
so’. The moment was for he alone. The moment was now.

The
sun’s first rays struck down upon the two-person TV.

With
that full
2001
effect.

Maxwell
whistled the strains of
Also Sprach Zarathustra
and then said ‘Rock ‘n’
Roll’ in a voice of no small awe.

The red
sunlight glancing down held his masterpiece to full glory. Glimmering about its
polished edges, reflecting in its painted panels, highlighting this detail and
that.

A thing
of great wonder it truly was. And Rock ‘n’ Roll indeed.

Maxwell
had fashioned the TV into the semblance of the classic nineteen sixty-one
Rock-Ola
Regis Model 1495 stereo jukebox.

He had,
as they say, ‘gone to town on it’.

As
aficionados
of the now legendary
Rock-Ola
will not need reminding, the 1495 model
was the first to feature the finless button bank, the rounded top valance and
the streamlined body shape that would later become the standard design carried
through the
Rock-Ola
range, to
The Empress, The Princess
and even
the nineteen sixty-four
Rhapsody.

Maxwell
had hobbled it together from everything he could lay his hands on. Strips of
tin beaten from old cooking pots, painted canvas, as many different varieties
of timber as he could coax from the carpenter’s assistant (which was a
considerable number, as the carpenter himself had gone out of town for a few
days).

It was
a veritable stonker. Maxwell had even acquired the windscreen from a
century-defunct Renault 4, which was serving as a cold frame in the carpenter’s
kitchen garden, to provide the panoramic wide screen. Two speaking tubes within
the cabinet led to a pair of commandeered ear-trumpets positioned beneath the wide
screen to amplify the news teller’s words to the viewing public. The entire
ensemble was painted in as many colours as there had been paint pots in the
carpenter’s shed.

It
could be truly said that no such item had ever existed before and that all who
saw it would be truly amazed.

If
there was one small fly in the Rock ‘n’ Roll ointment, it was the matter of the
carpenter’s name. The carpenter’s assistant had been ordered by his departing
boss to stand over Maxwell to ensure that he did not renege on his promise to
emblazon the name in letters big and bold across the front. Maxwell had carved
the carpenter’s name into a fair approximation of the famous
Rock-Ola
lettering.
But the name FUTTUCK just didn’t have the same wop-bop-a-loo-bop ring to it.

Maxwell
sighed deeply, looked upon all that he had made and found it good. Now he
re-covered the TV and set to erecting the posts and curtains which were to
screen it from the viewing public until the final moment of the first
commercial newscast. It was also imperative that Maxwell stand guard over his
wonder, to protect it from prying eyes and wandering hands.

And so began the day for
Maxwell.

And so
went the day.