The cult of Morse

I am on the Inspector Morse walking tour in Oxford, which is led by a donnish man called Alastair. We look like the funeral cortege of a man whose death is under investigation.

Oxford is a major character in Morse. I think of it as the antagonist. There is something very cold about the city, and unexpressed. Oxford’s novels are few – elves, talking lions, a bit of class. Its subconscious is rarely exposed: crime fiction must do it.

 Three series grew out of Colin Dexter’s 13 novels: Inspector Morse (1987-2000); Lewis (2006-2015), in which Morse is a spectral presence, which suits him (he would be a good ghost); and Endeavour, the prequel (2012-23), which ended last week.

We stand outside the Randolph Hotel.‘It’s not exactly wonderful PR for the Randolph when guests turn up, and they then die in their rooms,’ says Alastair. I’m not sure: the Randolph is devoted to the cult of Morse. When John Thaw, who played Morse, drank in Oxford pubs during shooting, people would say: ‘Here, you’re Morse, aren’t you? Mind if I have a drink with you?’ So he hid in the Randolph Bar. It is now the Morse Bar, filled with photographs of Thaw.

People who have not heard of Morse – though it was seen by one billion people – might wonder who he is. Alastair says when tourists came to the Randolph seeking Morse, the porter would telephone Dexter who would get the bus to meet them. Morse never bought drinks. Neither did Dexter. ‘I was supposed to be in it,’ says a man idly, ‘but I had a very loud laugh, and they wanted a corpse.’

There was mention of a police cadet in the last Endeavour, who may sprout another spin-off, but Colin Dexter’s will is clear: there will be no new Morse until the copyright runs out.

Dexter was a teacher all his life.