Terence Turner

From the Emmerdale Farm Celebration Edition 1000 Episodes magazine, 1985:

Terence Turner arrived on his father's doorstep in April this year having been sent down from Oxford where he was studying agriculture. Far too sophisticated, he feels, for a farming career. Terence has been trying to make his fortune ever since with a series of unlikely schemes such as "home-made" lime pickle and rock climbing. He is currently working on a dry ski slope project. Arrogant and lazy, Terence can nevertheless be amusing when he wishes, and he's recently been going out with Sandie Merrick, much to the consternation of the Sugden family.

Stephen Marchant (Terence Turner):

The other day Stephen Marchant was standing in Boots, innocently queing to buy a tube of toothpaste, when a young girl rushed over and spat at him: "I hate you!"

The other shoppers politely glanced away, assuming it was some lover's tiff, but Stephen had never seen the girl before and in fact she wasn't even talking to him. Her venom was intended for Terence Turner, Alan Turner's unpleasant son.

Stephen Marchant and the arrogant smoothie Terence have very little in common. Unlike Oxford-educated Turner, Stephen is an East Ender who left school as soon as he could for a series of dead-end jobs. He went to America and worked for a time as a DJ on an American radio station. Then he returned to England and has spent the last five years working in theatre in Bristol.

"If I wasn't an actor I'd work in conservation or some form of ecology," says Terence.

Out riding...

In late 1985, Terence was in charge of organising the shoots at Home Farm. But Alan wasn't happy. Terence's presence in the office at NY Estates was a thorn in Alan's side - and also Mrs Bates's. As she told Alan, she didn't quite know who her boss was!

Terence had a habit of putting his foot in it and, discussing the menu for an upcoming Shoot with Mrs Bates, spouted: "Now, what about a wine? Don't get any of that awful plonk the old man blew his money on!" Of course, he was totally unaware that his father was in the room. Until it was too late.

At the Woolpack, Terence chatted up newcomer Kathy Bates: "I'm on my own. You're on you're own. I fancy you. Well, if you fancy me let's get back to Home Farm, put some sounds on very loud and er... we'll get something together. I think you know what I mean."

Kathy basically told him that she wasn't interested. And she told him that what the locals said about him was quite wrong: "Pillock's nowhere near it!"

Terence moved over to the bar and tried to get back in Sandie's good books. He invited her back for a "nightcap". "Thanks, Terry," said Sandie, who had overheard his conversation with Kathy. "But I'd only be in the way!"

Terence was puzzled: "Sorry?"

"Well, I thought Kathy Bates would be there?"

"Very funny!" and Terence left the pub.

Sandie told Jackie that she didn't really know how she had ever liked Terence.

"This village is really starting to get on my nerves," said Terence to his father back at Home Farm.

Despite his differences with his son, Alan was greatly looking forward to having him at home over the festive season.

"Well, it'll be all right over Christmas," he replied. "I thought we might have a bit of a party. You know, nothing lavish - a sort of in loco Lord of the Manor do."

Terence broke the news that he would not be in Beckindale for Christmas: a friend had phoned, he had rented a cottage in Ireland over the festive season - "with plenty of booze and a bit of skirt", and had invited Terence to join him. Terence eagerly anticipated being saved from a "celibate Christmas".

Alan was downcast: "You've made up your mind?"

"Nothing to keep me here, is there?" asked Terence.

"No. No, I suppose not."

After Terence had retired to bed, Alan switched off the Christmas tree lights and retired to his own room, his plans for the festive season in tatters.

Harry Mowlam: Brute Of Beckindale

Ah, Beckindale in the early-to-mid 1980s...

Annie at her Aga, Amos behind the bar at the Woolpack, the Rev Donald Hinton being concerned for the spiritual welfare of his flock, our Jackie making a mess of things, Grandad Pearson making a crib for the Christmas nativity, Jack and Matt creosoting a fence and talking about the meaning of life...

1980s? Some said it was so sleepy it could almost have been the 1880s! As one viewer told Toke Townley: "Emmerdale Farm isn't about how life is, it's about how life should be."

Then, BANG! POW! the late 20th Century burst in, turning village life upside down, in the shape of Harry Mowlam.

Harry had a brief innings in the show in late 1983 and early 1984, when Matt and Dolly fell out with him over his mistreatment of his dog. But in 1985 he blew back in to Beckindale - worse than ever, chip firmly on shoulder.

Mr Mowlam had a cruel, villainous streak a mile wide and was quickly involved in a security van robbery.

As 1986 began, the man turned his venom back on to the Skilbecks - and finally there was a terrible fight with Matt, entirely initiated by Mr Mowlam, and the man ended up dead, with Matt accused of his murder...

Life in Beckindale had never been absolutely cosy - the early years of the programme had featured murder, suicide, rape, a teenage pregnancy, adultery, arson and a gun hold up. But Beckindale had never seen the likes of Harry Mowlam before.

The part was an acting triumph for Godfrey James - Mowlam, whether wallowing in self pity, bantering in the Woolpack, battering Matt Skilbeck or menacing Dolly, was absolutely believable, a bearded hulk of a man, as turbulent and changeable as the Yorkshire weather. And thoroughly twisted.

From the Yorkshire Evening Post Emmerdale Farm 1,000! supplement, 1985:

He's the nastiest man ever to walk the streets of Beckindale. A big, bearded loudmouth whose loathsome behaviour earned him a smack across the face from Dolly Skilbeck.

Godfrey James, who plays the hated Harry Mowlam, has even been spat at in the street by real-life old ladies who take exception to Harry's wild antics on the box.

"Mowlam is thoroughly hated," said Godfrey. "He's a nutcase. He's a bit touched."

Playing the villain comes easy to the surprisingly mild-mannered Godfrey. Off-screen, he's nothing like the man who gets up the noses of everybody down on the farm.

But bad guy parts have regularly come his way in films and TV.

And he's so convincing, it often lands him in trouble with people who can't tell the difference between fiction and reality.

He might have got spat at for looking like Mowlam, but his part as a hard man in "The Sweeney" almost got him beaten up in a London pub.

"I was down in the East End when these characters tried to have a go at me," he says. "They wanted to see how tough I was."

The East End is Godfrey's home ground. He was born there 54 years ago, the son of a greengrocer who, he says, "didn't like the idea of me becoming a woofter actor."

After a brief stint as Harry in Emmerdale Farm, Godfrey James was invited back a couple of years later for a longer run.

Filming in Yorkshire means long spells away from his home in Pevensey Bay, East Sussex, where he lives with his wife Vivienne - "she's a cracker" - and spends his leisure time at sea in his own fishing smack.

They've been married for 32 years and have a daughter, Tracy, 24, named after the film star Spencer Tracy. She works as a nurse.

He doesn't like hotels, so he's brought his caravan north and let it come to rest in a pub car park.

He's managed to convince the regulars that he's not quite as distasteful as Harry Mowlam. They even play dominoes with him.

Mrs Bates

From "The Hotten Courier", Yorkshire Television "Emmerdale Farm" programme publicity, September 1984.

Mrs Bates, who arrived in Beckindale in 1984, had a broken marriage, two teenage children and a nightmare boss in Alan Turner at NY Estates. But she coped. The character's amusement at Alan's various acts of stupidity and her quiet, caring nature added a great deal of "must watch" factor to Emmerdale Farm.

Mrs Bates was not originally intended to be a major character, but Diana Davies added something to the role which ensured that she was. Richard Thorp (Alan Turner) recalls:

"Oh, Alan was an absolute stinker in the beginning, he rubbed everyone up the wrong way. The major influence on him was Mrs Bates who was played by Diana Davies. In the very first scene we did together I was losing my temper, ranting and raving, so she sent me up and it came across when we did the scene."

The Alan Turner/Mrs Bates NY Estates scenes were terrific to watch.

Mrs Bates ranks as one of my all-time favourite Beckindalers.

Diana Davies autograph from the 1980s.

From "Wilks" To "Mr Wilks" - Credit Where It's Due!

Give that man a medal! Mr Wilks listens to yet another of Amos' bizarre schemes in the 1980s.

From 1972 until the early 1980s, the character of Henry Wilks, portrayed by Arthur Pentelow, was always listed in the closing credits as "Wilks". Initially, Henry, a retired businessman, was seen moving to Beckindale and was very much an outsider.

But that changed.

In the 1980s, Henry's partnership with Amos Brearly at the Woolpack Inn was in its golden era, and the popularity of that partnership - and the character of Henry Wilks - was acknowledged by altering "Wilks" to "Mr Wilks" (which, of course, Amos always called him) in the programme's end credits early in the decade.

A lovely and thoroughly English quirk (such formality!) which was later echoed by the listing of Caroline Bates (Diana Davies), Alan Turner's long suffering secretary at NY Estates, as "Mrs Bates" in the closing credits. In the NY days, this was the title Alan always used, and, even after the character's Christian name was revealed, "Mrs Bates" remained in the closing credits.

"Emmerdale Farm" closing credits from 1980 - "Wilks"!

Spot the difference - "Emmerdale Farm" closing credits from 1983 - "Mr Wilks"!

Eric Pollard 1988

From The Hotten Courier, Yorkshire Television Emmerdale Farm programme publicity, summer 1988:

Actor Chris Chittell has got used to being the man they love to hate in "Emmerdale Farm", but he has no sympathy for the rogue he plays.

As the disgraced antiques dealer, Eric Pollard, he has terrorised Sandie Merrick, hatched a series of shady deals, and has even been suspected of having shot Henry Wilks' son-in-law, Paolo.

Chris has good reason to disapprove of the dealer's underhand way of doing business.

He says: "Pollard has shown himself to be the worst kind of conman - preying on old folk to try to trick them out of valuable items of furniture.

"My grandmother has had several experiences of men like Pollard calling round and trying to buy antiques from her. One man had his eye on her Louis XIV cabinet in gilt and marble. So many old people have things they think they must get rid of because they've had them for years. They can be so trusting."

Chris says a common ploy is to agree on a price for the item, then the furniture is taken away. The conman then returns the following day offering less money than earlier agreed.

Fortunately, Chris' grandma wasn't fooled by the trick. But Chris hopes that Pollard's bad habits will alert Emmerdale's audience to the dangers of selling on spec to a respectable-looking character.

If Chris looks at home among all those antiques, it's not surprising. For the 39-year-old is a keen collector in real life.

He spends much of his spare time hunting down bargains in junk shops around his home in Newark, Nottinghamshire.

The Wonderful World Of Amos And Mr Wilks

Arthur Pentelow as Henry Wilks (or should that be Mr Wilks?!) and Ronald Magill as Amos Brearly. These two ran The Woolpack Inn and shared the living accommodation from 1973 to 1991.

Actually there were TWO Woolpacks. The first was declared unsafe due to subsidence in 1976, so the pair relocated to premises elsewhere in the village.

Mr Wilks was a warm hearted retired businessman. Amos was... well... erm... it's not easy to summarise Amos. He was childish. Pompous. Usually rigidly formal. Given to rapid fads and enthusiasms. He was also naive and very good hearted. Underneath it all.

The character of Amos evolved. When he became Beckindale correspondent on the Hotten Courier, he puffed himself up like a peacock. But it took until the early 1980s before the character was refined and honed to perfection. Watch any 1970s episode of Emmerdale Farm, and I think you might agree that Amos was quieter, more restrained and dour than in the 1980s - when he was gloriously potty, pursuing fad after fad in quick succession, bridling at Mr Wilks' attempts to bring him down to earth and generally being a wonderful nuisance.

1980 was an absolutely pivotal year for the Amos character - with Seth Armstrong leaving The Malt Shovel bar to become a regular at The Woolpack, and Al Dixon joining the cast as Walter, Amos became more animated, fad-ridden and bizarre than ever before!

The '80s were a truly splendid era during which Amos and Mr Wilks story lines abounded, as the show became an all-year-round soap.

Do you remember the time when Amos got into transcendental meditation? The time he went "upwardly mobile" and took up golf with Alan Turner? The time he turned to bee keeping? The time he baked a cake? The time he was cursed by a gypsy? The time...

If all these sound like Amos-only story lines, rest assured that Mr Wilks was always there, advising, trying to moderate his friend's behaviour, and generally suffering!

Fortunately, Mr Wilks had friends elsewhere or he would, no doubt, have gone insane!

Amos and Mr Wilks have a disagreement in 1980...

... and they're still at in 1989. Dolly Skilbeck (Jean Rogers) looks on.

A pain in the neck to Amos was one of his best 1980s customers and arch enemy, Seth Armstrong (Stan Richards). How he loved to wind the big key in Amos' back! In 1980, Amos commented disapprovingly on Seth's loyalty to the Malt Shovel. Seth was just becoming established as a regular character back then, having first appeared in a few episodes in 1978. From 1980 onwards, Seth switched to The Woolpack, and absolutely loved to get under Amos' skin! Remember the time he booked two strippers (and a python!) to perform at The Woolpack - much to Amos' horror? Amos ordered them out and the pub was wrecked by irate customers!

Seth holding court at The Woolpack in 1983. Walter (Al Dixon) says nowt and concentrates on his ale. Al Dixon first appeared as the silent bar propper in September 1980.

Seth and pal.

"Sunday People", June 9, 1985. Apparently Jenny the donkey's braying could sometimes be heard when the "Emmerdale Farm" crew were attempting to film in Esholt - so it was decided to bring her into the story!

Joint Pipe Smokers Of The Year, 1986.

Picture the scene: it's 1980 and only 5% of UK households have video recorders. In fact, video technology had been around for yonks, but domestic players and recorders only a few years and they were highly expensive. So, unable to tape your favourite shows to keep and keep again, you bought novels of all the storylines.

.

Shadows From The Past, by Lee Mackenzie, was the 10th Emmerdale Farm novel (there would be many more) and was published in 1980. The author was excellent at bringing Amos and Mr Wilks to life on paper. Here, Amos has been awakened by a strange noise, and goes to investigate. Mr Wilks, disturbed by Amos' movements, follows and demands an explanation...

.

"There was somebody here. I heard him."

.

"Heard what?"

.

I heard a... There was a... A sound."

.

"You probably woke yourself with your own snoring, Amos."

.

"I do not snore, Mr Wilks," said his partner, offended.

.

"How do you know if you don't? Have you ever stayed awake to listen?"

.

"How could I stay awake and..." Amos realised his leg was being pulled. "I'm serious, Mr Wilks. Someone is in the Woolpack."

.

"Rubbish."

.

"I tell you I heard a sort of a thud -"

.

"A sickening thud?"

.

"Eh?" Amos read very little and knew nothing about well-worn cliches from the thrillers of bygone years. "It was more of a... chunk."

.

"A chunk of what?"

.

"A sound like a chunk. Like this." Amos picked up a jug from the top of the fridge and put it down on the metal top. "Like that, only louder."

.

"It was something falling over."

.

"What, then?" Amos waved a hand. "Nothing's fallen over."

.

"Aye," Henry said, rather dry. "Everythings just as usual."

.

"In here." Amos agreed. "But who knows where else he's been? He suddenly clutched his dressing-gown in the region of his heart. "The till!" he cried.

.

He rushed out into the bar. Henry followed, much more slowly. Accustomed as he was to Amos' funny ways, this amused him only a little. As a man approaches the golden years, he needs his sleep.

.

Amos went to the till, rang up 'no sale' and found the money still there. It's to be understood that this money wasn't the whole day's takings. Those were upstairs under lock and key in a box below Amos' bed. The money in the till was a peace-offering to any burglar who might get in: Amos reasoned that if a man got something, he wouldn't creep upstairs and murder you in your bed.

.

He had a low opinion of how much a burglar would be satisfied with. Nevertheless the one pound note, one fifty pence piece, and four twopence pieces were still there.

.

"You see?" Henry said. "Nobody's got in. If they had, they'd have taken that."

.

Amos was shaken. Then he said, "I disturbed him at it. That's what it is! The chunk I heard - that was the till being pushed shut."

.

"Funny sort of burglar who bothers to close the till when he's disturbed," Henry rejoined, rubbing the back of his neck and stifling a yawn. "Come on, Amos, let's get back to bed."

.

"Nay, Mr Wilks, I tell thee - someone's been in here. I can feel it."

.

"Clairvoyant, are you?"

.

"Mr Wilks, I'm C of E as well you know..."

.

Excellent stuff - and the best was yet to come!

25 Years Ago - The Way Things Were - Gossip From Beckindale 1983 - Part 4

It all began in early 1983. Mr Wilks, ardent local walker, was fed up with the state of Primrose Dingle, and upbraided Alan Turner about it. The Dingle (known in NY Estates parlance as "HF7" - the "HF" standing for "Home Farm") was NY's property and was littered with builder's debris - it had been for some time.

Mr Wilks took his concerns to Alan Turner, who put pressure on the Estate workers to clear the Dingle of debris. Unfortunately, he rubbed them all up the wrong way - refusing to recognise their positions as skilled workers (their contracts stated that they were all "labourers") and also refusing them overtime.

NY Estates Union rep John Tuplin discussed the situation with his colleagues in the Woolpack one lunchtime - and things got a little noisy. The men were thoroughly fed up with Alan's high handed bullying. Disturbed by the noise, Amos Brearly scolded them all, telling them:

"I'm surprised at you lot. You call yourselves grown men and 'ere you are you behaving like... like a rabble! Do you want my honest opinion?"

"I think we're gonna get it!" said Daniel, amidst sniggers from the men.

Amos was undeterred: "Mr Turner's an educated gentleman - a born leader doing a difficult job in difficult times. And if he wants you to do a job I reckon you should behave like true Britishers and get stuck in!"

"And that's your honest opinion?" asked John Tuplin.

"It is!" said Amos, head held high.

"Right, lads!" And the men got up and left the pub.

Amos moved back to the bar. "That's the way to handle industrial relations, Mr Wilks! One word from me and they're off to Primrose Dingle. The voice of reason - that's all were needed!"

Voice of reason? Mr Wilks was not convinced.

The Woolpack was boycotted by the NY Estates men, and other villagers joined them. Mr Wilks had hoped that as Amos grew older he might become a little easier to live with. But it was not to be. The 1980s saw Amos becoming more fad obsessed and downright oddball than ever before. 1983 had barely started, but already Amos had competed with Sam Pearson to try and win a cruise in a competition, gone in for transcendental meditation and philosophy, and tried to get the Woolpack visited by Eric Birdwick, the hostelry reviewer on The Hotten Courier.

On the first night of the great NY Estates walkout, still hoping for a visit from Mr Birdwick, Amos had banked up a blazing fire - it was so hot that Walter, the pub's only customer did a previously unheard of thing - he took off his cap and loosened his tie. Peanuts laid out on the bar caused acrimony when Amos caught Walter eating them, and, finally, Walter walked out. Amos was devastated: "Walter! You can't!" But, flinging one last disdainful look over his shoulder, Walter did.

"What are we going to do, Mr Wilks?!" groaned Amos.

The next day, Amos refused to believe Mr Wilks when he said that Walter had joined the rest of the Woolpack regulars at the bar of the Malt Shovel.

"Nay, I'll never believe that!"

"Amos, you can't go around playing at God, laying down the law as you do, without upsetting some people. Nay, most people. Nay, all the people!"

Alan Turner came in, commenting: "Bit sparse in here today, isn't it?"

The story of the row with the NY Estates men came out and Alan was very impressed by this show of support.

Amos and Alan got chatting under Mr Wilks' disapproving eye, and Alan invited Amos to play golf with him the following day and to have lunch at Hotten Golf Club. Amos had never played golf before, but did not admit it. An invitation to the golf club just suited his upwardly mobile mood.

"I must be off - collect you about ten," said Alan. He left. Mr Wilks eyed Amos: "Lee Trevino, I presume?"

Amos was suddenly worried at the situation he'd landed himself in: "What am I going to wear, Mr Wilks? I mean, it's plus fours and spikes as I remember rightly."

"Plus fours!" said Mr Wilks, derisively.

"Only it's a long time since I trod greens," continued Amos.

"A long time, Amos?"

"Aye, well..." Amos squirmed.

"A very long time? Would it be more accurate to say never?"

Amos nodded.

"Then you've only yourself to blame!" said Mr Wilks.

However, Mr Wilks was a good friend. He made it plain that he did not approve of Amos' liaison with Alan Turner, but stated that he did not want to see him in a mess. He presented Amos with his own golfing equipment and clothes. Amos also approached Seth Armstrong asking him for any golfing paraphernalia he could provide in return for "good money".

A golf lesson in the snow was not a great success. Mr Wilks was impressed by Amos' swing, but little else. Things got a little heated.

"Don't adopt a tone of voice with me, Mr Wilks - I am trying!"

"You are, Amos - you are!"

Seth turned up with some frankly rather manky golfing gear. Amos accepted some golf balls (he was staggered when Mr Wilks estimated a price of £1-00 each for new balls), a pair of shoes and the cap seen in the picture above!

Amos decided to get in some practice...

... with and without a golf club, indoors at the Woolpack...

... but, sadly, his efforts only resulted in breakages. "Destroy the pub, as well as the good will!" said Mr Wilks.

On the morning of the big day, Amos was hoping that Alan might be diverted by important NY Estates business. He was not happy when Alan showed up, but put on a very brave face...

... which began to wobble by the time he reached the golf course.

Alan introduced Amos to Tufty Billingham and The Major. Tufty seemed all right, but as for The Major, complete with cigarette holder and fierce glare...

Oh 'eck!

In Tufty Billingham, Amos had found another Mr Wilks. He helped the beleaguered licensee to choose the right club for each shot, and was sympathetic to (and perhaps a little amused by) Amos' plight.

-

The Major was a cheat at golf. Had been at it for years, but nobody had ever caught him before. Whilst Tufty and Alan searched for The Major's ball, lost in the rough, Amos saw The Major grab hold of the ball and craftily relocate it. "It is me first, after all!" The Major crowed.

-

Amos thought it was all in the rules of the game, and happily copied The Major when it came to his turn.

-

"Now, just a minute!" said The Major.

-

"You can't do that, Amos!" cried Alan.

-

"But The Major's just done it!" Amos replied.

-

"Has he?" asked Tufty, with great interest (at last The Major had been caught out!). He turned to The Major: "Have you?"

The Major was outraged. "Right! That's it! That is it! The whole damn morning's been wasted! And now this!"

-

"Now, Major, I'm sure there's been some sort of mistake!" crawled Alan - he was out to cultivate The Major in the interests of NY Estates, and crawling was an admirable tactic in his book.

-

"But I saw him, he did it over there!" protested Amos, pointing to the spot. "He did it over there!" He turned to Tufty: "It's true - he did it over there!" He sighed: "I don't see what all't fuss is about any road."

-

"You're not allowed to do it, Amos, that's what all the fuss is about!" laughed Tufty. "Come on, let's go and have a drink."

-

And they trudged off through the snow. "Like I said, I just copied't Major!" said Amos.

-

"You actually saw him do it?" asked Tufty.

-

"Back there!" cried Amos.

-

"I'll tell you one thing, Amos - you're the first person ever to catch him red headed!" said Tufty.

Amos liked Tufty. Back at the club house restaurant, Alan and The Major excused themselves to use the Gents, and Amos insisted on buying Tufty a pint. It was then he discovered that he had left his wallet in the changing room. Going to retrieve it, Amos heard Alan and The Major talking at the urinal...

-

"Whatever persuaded you to invite him?" asked The Major.

-

"I told you, I owed him a favour," said Alan.

-

"The man's an idiot!" The Major opined.

-

"You don't think I wanted to bring him, do you? But he told me he could play," crawled Alan.

-

"The man's a liar as well as a buffoon," said The Major. "Not to mention an insufferable bore."

-

"I can't deny that," said Alan.

-

Amos was stricken. His upwardly mobile venture had found him hopelessly out of his depth. His happy day out was ruined. He suddenly saw himself for what he was on this occasion - a fool.

-

Back in the bar, he sought escape: "I'm sorry I had to leave you, gentlemen. Only I suddenly remembered I had to make a telephone call to my partner, Mr Wilks, on a matter of business, like. I'm afraid summat's turned up - which means I'll have to turn down your kind invitation to lunch, Alan. I'm sure you'll understand."

"Nothing serious, I hope, Amos?" asked Alan.

-

"Nay, I'd not call it serious - let's just say as it's summat I can't ignore," said Amos somewhat meaningfully.

-

Alan may have been a bully to his NY underlings, and a crawler to the likes of The Major, but even so he wasn't heartless. He insisted on running Amos back to Beckindale. Amos protested that he'd get a bus, then Tufty came to the rescue - he was passing through the village and would be happy to drop Amos off. He didn't want to stop for the meal - he only ever had liquid lunches.

-

"Well, I'd just like to say thank you, gentlemen, I'm sorry if I've inconvenienced you," said Amos. The heavy, meaningful tone was back again. "I've learned a lot from it."

Alan felt slightly troubled. "Strange," he said to The Major, as Amos and Tufty left.

"A relief, you mean," said The Major. "Glad to see the back of the fellow. Are you going to get me a drink then?"

"Yes, yes, of course - G&T?"

"And then I'll let you buy me lunch," The Major smugly toyed with his cigarette holder.

Alan was momentarily aback. "Oh will you?" Then he slid back into crawler mode. "Yes. Yes, it'll be a pleasure."

-

"I'll tell you what, Amos, I might well drop in on you sometime and sample that beer of yours," said Tufty as the pair walked to his car.

-

"And you'd be right welcome an' all, Tufty," replied Amos with sincerity.

-

"Well, cheer up - you haven't missed much!" said Tufty. "The lunches aren't that good and they're damned expensive too!"

-

Mr Wilks was eager for news back at the still empty Woolpack. But Amos quietly took his leave and went upstairs for a lay down. He had learned a bitter lesson. And with all his regulars now at the Malt Shovel, what on earth was he going to do?

Clive Hornby

Clive Hornby as Jack Sugden in 1983.

I am saddened to hear of the death of actor Clive Hornby, Jack Sugden in Emmerdale Farm.

Mr Hornby was the second actor to play Jack and first appeared in the role on 19 February 1980.

Down to earth Jack was much-loved, Mr Hornby stamped his own warm and natural acting style on the character, which had formerly been portrayed as a bit of an outsider and trendy bohemian in the show's early days.

My sympathies to Mr Hornby's family.

As a tribute to Clive Hornby, I am declaring August at Back To Beckindale "1980 Month". We shall then return to the year of Mr Hornby's debut in Beckindale to look at the events and characters of the time - including, of course, the return of Jack Sugden.

Richard Handford And Stuart Doughty - Two Producers Of 1980s Emmerdale Farm

The producers of Emmerdale Farm in the 1980s were as follows:

Anne W. Gibbons (1979 to 1983)

Richard Handford (1983 to 1986)

Michael Russell (1986 to 1988)

Stuart Doughty (1988 to 1991)

Here we present the views of two Emmerdale Farm producers of the 1980s - Richard Handford is first, in an article from the Yorkshire Evening Post 1985 supplement, Emmerdale Farm 1,000!

IT’S NOT A SOAP OPERA IT’S DRAMA - SAYS THE PRODUCER

“Emmerdale Farm” is more than just another time-consuming soap opera. Ever since its conception by time-honoured writer Kevin Laffan, the series has had a message to give to its millions of fans.

That message, says producer Richard Handford, latest in 13 years to wear the mantle, is that it should always be “warm and caring.”

“Most of the characters,” he says, “adhere to moral values. And it’s bound to stay that way.”

Richard, who read English at Cambridge and spent nearly every night at the cinema, is the sixth producer of “Emmerdale” and has been responsible for 200 of the 1,000 episodes.

He admits that there has been a hardening of the storylines from the cosy fireside yarns and sheep shearing shots that introduced Beckindale to a nation obviously gasping for a breath of fresh country air.

“At one time everybody was good,” he says. “Now we are challenging traditional values.”

Challenging these values has meant introducing such modern traits which obviously effect both urban and rural communities, as extra-marital affairs. The sort of thing that makes Annie Sugden clank her pans on the solid-fuel kitchen range.

But it’s only done to reflect life as it really is, Richard insists.

“I don’t do it to pull in viewers,” he says. “Jack’s affair was a good story that we could deal with well. And I wanted to show that life isn’t all that easy

“It can happen to anyone. It’s just that some of us are lucky, but we can’t hide away from the fact that some aren’t.”

Jack’s little romp - a great departure for the clean-cut Sugdens - surprised the “Emmerdale” team by bringing “very few” compaints. “I think there were about twelve,” Richard recalls.

The changes in modern values must come through in the programme, he says. “For instance, nobody now expects their children to be virtous until marriage.

“Annie, who sets ther moral tone for her family, has had to be challenged with these problems.”

When Richard looks to the future, he says it would be impossible to predict what’s going to happen In the next 1,000 episodes. “Why change the tone for the sake of it,” he says.

But one thing is certain. It will always be a happy programme.

“It always has been, both on and off the set,” says Richard. “It shows in the way the artistes keep coming back for more.”

“People will bust a gut for the programme. They really believe in it, seriously and passionately.
“We’re not a soap opera. We believe we’re a long-running drama.”

And on to Stuart Doughty - an article from the Hotten Courier, Yorkshire Television's Emmerdale Farm programme publicity, summer 1988:

No big shake-up says the farm’s new boss

Former “Brookside” producer Stuart Doughty has crossed the Pennines to join Yorkshire Television’s top serial, “Emmerdale Farm”.

But Stuart, who took over the reins in January, has no wish to turn life down on the farm into a “rural ‘Brookside’”.

“I haven’t any plans to urbanise it and fill ‘Emmerdale’ full of social problems,” says Stuart.

During his two-and-a-half-year spell on the Channel 4 series, set in Liverpool, storylines included a fatal gun siege, rape, suicide and the first AIDS sufferer in a British soap.

But, though he won’t radically alter the formula that has made “Emmerdale Farm” a TV favourite, with a regular 12 million viewers per episode, Stuart admits he doesn’t want to see things standing still.

He sees the future as one of evolution rather than revolution. “Any serial has got to move with the times. If it stops it will become old-fashioned and out of touch with its viewers,” he says.

“Soaps must reflect life. They have to keep in touch with real life, otherwise viewers regard them as fantasy.”

He certainly believes it would be wrong for British soaps to become as escapist as “Dallas” or “Dynasty”, in which the characters are unbelievably rich and beautiful.

“British soaps tend to portray ordinary people in everyday situations,” he says.

Stuart, 38, has a varied broadcasting background. After university, he joined the BBC’s Overseas Service.

Then, after a brief spell as an actor - when he worked with Andrew Burt, who played the original Jack Sugden - he began supplying quiz questions for “University Challenge”.

This eventually led to a job with Granada as a researcher.

Moving on, Stuart became an associate producer at Granada, responsible for dramas like “Crown Court”, “A Kind Of Loving” and “The Adventures Of Sherlock Holmes”. In 1985, he went to Mersey Television to become Bookside’s producer.

Now, Stuart believes he’s the first soap producer to make the move from one serial to another.