The PC: Last of the summer beer.

The PC: Last of the summer beer.

A weekly web column by Roger A. Baylor.

Lately I’ve found myself enamored of the venerable British television series, “Last of the Summer Wine.” It’s hard to imagine a more unfashionable concept in the milieu of the iPhone and Bitcoin, and perhaps that’s why I’m so attracted to it.

For the uninitiated, the series ran from 1973 through 2010, a staggering 37 years, with almost 300 episodes aired. Virtually all of them emphasize a timeless sense of place, with much location filming amid the workmanlike stone buildings and rustic, gorgeous rolling hills of Holmfirth, Yorkshire. There is a basic narrative premise remaining unchanged throughout the program’s run:

“A whimsical comedy with a penchant for light philosophy and full-on slapstick (following) the misadventures of three elderly friends tramping around the Yorkshire countryside.”

Reruns of “Last of the Summer Wine” have been showing on KET for as long as I can remember, and while the electronic media of today’s world enables one the selective luxury of binge viewing on-line, the series itself decidedly is not about today’s world. As such, I prefer the old-fashioned manner of viewing: Pouring a drink and sitting in front of the television at 6:30 p.m. on Sunday with the missus.

On those occasions when life gets in the way, there’s always YouTube to play catch-up.

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Just a few weeks ago, the chronological episode spool ran all the way back to the pilot, filmed in 1972 and aired in 1973. Astoundingly, plot elements subsequently enjoying a shelf life of decades are largely intact from the very start, except I’d argue that the word “elderly” isn’t really a valid descriptor of the primary male characters, at least in the very beginning of the series.

In fact, while the first trio (Cyril, Clegg and Compo) might accurately be described as redundant, pensioned or retired, the actors portraying them, as well as their fictional characters, are in their early- to mid-50s as the series begins in 1973. They get to be genuinely elderly, but what are the odds of a television series lasting almost four decades?

Because “Last of the Summer Wine” keeps going and going, there are minor changes, tweakings and cast turnover. The character of Cyril is replaced by Foggy Dewhurst, and then Seymour Utterthwaite; Foggy later returns, and is replaced a second time, by Frank Thornton’s Herbert Truelove. Bill Owen (Compo) dies in 2000, and so does his character. Peter Sallis’s Clegg ages the most; he appears in all 295 episodes and is still alive in 2014, in his early nineties.

However, in the beginning – insert a shocked “gasp” here – they’re my approximate age (53), or only slightly older. This, dear readers, boggles my mind, and it speaks to the endlessly convoluted mind games of time and history.

As an example, consider Foggy, who constantly exaggerates his experiences in the Asian Theater during the Second World War. When Foggy came to town in 1976, it had been only three full decades since the end of the war, which as we know initiated a post-war baby boom … which in England produced the earliest fans of a group like the Rolling Stones … who in 2014 are in the third year of celebrating the band’s 50th anniversary.

On one of the last of the newer (1991) episodes aired on KET before the rotation began anew, Foggy encounters a man on the street in Holmfirth using an ATM. By contrast, the 1973 pilot episode might as well have been filmed in the 1920s. Modernity in Holmfirth is relative. There is an absence of overall hurry, and few items are made of plastic. Anglicanism isn’t dead, and there are as many buses and tractors on the street as automobiles.

Into this compelling tableau steps Clegg, Compo and Cyril. Apart from wartime service, these former schoolmates never left their nowhere town. Now, with nothing to do, they wander about hill, dale and high street, reminiscing and philosophizing, indulging in harmless antics inspired by boredom, and more in keeping with children’s play than retiree community social scheduling.

In short, it is a worthy ideal, indeed. Where do I sign up?

The trio’s day invariably brings them to Sid’s Café for tea and sticky buns, and often includes extended sessions in various local Holmfirth pubs, including the White Horse Inn, Butcher’s Arms and Elephant and Castle. In these intimate bricks and mortar monuments to Real Ale when it really was real, they enjoy leisurely pints from the hand-pull while hatching the next scheme. Periodically there is disagreement over who buys the next round, but three more pints generally materialize in front of them, to be deliciously drained.

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Because the title character of the series “Inspector Morse” specifically addresses the virtues of traditional cask ale at regular intervals, he’s probably the foremost telly-centric exponent of traditional British ale-making virtues, albeit leaning a bit toward the geekier side of things.

“Last of the Summer Wine” also ranks highly, if for no other reason than its depiction of the pub experience in such affectionate fashion, as a daily component of the well-rounded ne’er-do-well’s life. Of course, this is the whole point of a pub, and I thank the series for making it.

Not only that, but I salivate and become all Pavlovian. I see the Holmfirth boys lifting their pints, and for the briefest of moments, the stress-ridden workaday routine disappears from view. There is simplicity.

In a daydream, I join my pals Mark and Graham in shuffling through the streets of New Albany, solving the world’s problems, and repairing to a clean, well-lighted place for liquid sustenance. We hector politicians, recall the good old daze, and toss a water balloon at a passing tractor trailer.

It can’t ever be the same, although a boy – and even an older man – can dream.

Or, he can watch “Last of the Summer Wine” and envision the art of the possible.