The Observer reports that the Don's departure has inspired a rare kind of poetry in messageboard posters. Here at the Sea of Immeasurable Gravy the Sock has been inundated with odes to the great man and more than a few limericks. However the following poem from Fat Rascal best conveyed the general mood..
No vine weevil, no slugs, no rust, no blight,
No mildew, no aphid, no wilt, no damping off
Have brought about our present plight
No pest or disease in one fell stroke
Could bring more pain and grief
To fans of the beeb’s top gardening bloke
We rent asunder ethical garments
Handwoven from organic sacking (please consult our catalogue)
His furrowed brow, his loping stride
His curly hair and manly bag
No more at Berryfields espied
The Don is not dead but simply gone
The fruitcage stands empty, obelisks bereft
But surely Gardener’s World lives on?
Turn your compost with gladdened heart
Maybe, just maybe, Beardshaw will come back?