Goodbye, Clangers

Oh dear. Who is going to help Grandma Clanger knit the tinsel string for Christmas now? Oliver Postgate, co-creator of The Clangers and, some might argue, genius, has died at the age of 83. There is only one sane response to this news: a day of national mourning. The world is an infinitely sadder place.

For me The Clangers – and his other creations, Bagpuss, Noggin the Nog and Ivor the Engine – represent all that is excellent and unique about English eccentricity. The Clangers especially were my favourite, with their blue string pudding and the lovely friendly cloud. I know that many will prefer Bagpuss – but in truth I was a little frightened of him, and I didn’t like the mice with their terrible singing. The Clangers, on the other hand, made sweet whistling noises which had a soothing, hypnotic effect on my five-year-old self.

Sometimes, after my own children have gone to bed, I come back downstairs to find the television still tuned to Nick Junior. This is a rare treat. From 8pm onwards it’s retro time on Nick Junior, a most canny piece of programming and clearly one devised with fortysomething parents of young children in mind. The Wombles are first at 8.30, followed in swift and glorious succession by Trumpton (another firm favourite), The Clangers, Bagpuss, Chigley and, finally, Ivor the Engine.

So tune in tonight, and raise a glass to Postgate. I shall think of him,up there on the Small Blue Planet, enjoying a restorative bowl of the Soup Dragon’s finest purple brew.