After an alleged outrage committed by a bearded Rasta in 1950s Jamaica, there was public clamour for all of the Rastas (at the time less than 15,000 out of a population of 1 million) to be rounded up and decanted to a place of safety – not for their own well-being but for the peace of mind of society. Rastas were despised; they were considered barefoot vagabonds who wore ‘bag-o-wire’ rags, lived in the gulleys and close to rubbish dumps; in the public’s perception they were lazy, work-shy, dope fiend criminal menaces to society. Without fear of censure, Rastas were spoken about as if they were vermin, rodents – the harbingers of disease and immorality.
Over the next twenty years these despised outcasts underwent a remarkable transformation. Through the popularity of Reggae and especially Bob Marley they came to be seen in a more forgiving light, as a Jamaican equivalent to the ‘Beat Generation. The middle-classes who’d previously held their noses suddenly started sporting lovingly tended dreadlocks, and speaking Irie Rasta talk.
Rastamouse is just a hop, skip and a jump away from Bob Marley’s ‘One Love’. What’s not to like? Rastamouse is surely preferable to the sadistic ‘Jerry’ who tormented poor ‘Tom’ the cat and the black maid during my 1960s childhood. On top of which, the skateboarding Rastamouse, with his dreadlocks packed away in a giant knitted tea-cozy flashing true Rasta colours: red, gold and green, is just plain cool.

But I’m not entirely convinced that he is little more than a Rasta by design. The gold bling chain with a ‘R’ inscribed instead of a ‘H’ for His Imperial Majesty has caused dread Rasta eyebrows to rise, and Haile Selassie does not even get a name check! Furthermore, I suspect his fondness for cheese is just that and not a code for a craving for ganja.
Apart from the easy-listening Reggae (which hard-core two-year-olds would rather have the Dancehall punany lyrics) the language is the best thing about Rastamouse. The crime-fighting special agent and his easy crew, Scratchy and Zoomer, are constantly ‘makin’ a bad t’ing good’; asking ‘Wha’gwan’ of each other and conferring ‘true dat’ props on their pronouncements. British toddlers can surely only benefit from its musicality and from this vital tool towards becoming bilingual. They’ll be able to slip in and out of Cheltenham and Brixton with equal ease, rub-a-dub stylee.
The BBC bowed slightly and subtly to critics of the corrosive influence of Rastamouse’s language when it changed the strap-line from “t’ink” to “think”. But I say to Auntie, ‘No t’ank you. Don’t slide. Stick to the courage of your initial convictions.’
The faux fuss over Rastamouse calls to mind the fevered obsession and anxiety in Jamaica during the 1960s over the rise of the ‘vulgar’ import, Calypso. Back then the Harvard-educated future Prime Minister, Edward Seaga, detected a whiff of hypocrisy in the outrage, when he wondered aloud in print: ‘W’at dem call dis lewdness. Ah wander if it so bad.’

Colin Grant is the author of I & I: The Natural Mystics: Marley, Tosh and Wailer which the Guardian has hailed as ‘original and stylish’ Colin is an independent historian and BBC radio producer. The son of Jamaican emigrants, his first book, a biography of Marcus Garvey, Negro with a Hat is also published by Jonathan Cape.