1983: Amos Brearly's Brother...

Ezra Brearly (Martin Matthews) chunters on to Walter (Al Dixon) and Mr Wilks (Arthur Pentelow)...

Did Amos Brearly (Ronald Magill) have any brothers and sisters, asks Moggy?

Amos spoke of having a deceased brother and in late 1983 a very much alive one turned up in Beckindale. This was Ezra Brearly (played by Martin Matthews) - a butcher. "You could say as I went from one slab to another, so to speak," he told Mr Wilks, referring to the Brearly family trade as undertakers.

He introduced himself to Seth Armstrong as "Ezra Brearly - manager and proprietor of the Butchery, Whitehaven," and was also, apparently, president of the Whitehaven Chamber of Commerce.

Having eaten a few meals at The Woolpack, he told his brother: "If you'll take my criticism, Amos, as a man who knows his sausages, I don't like the look of yours!"

Ezra drove an old-fashioned motorcycle with a side car, drank a lot of Amos' beer, and it was apparent that the two brothers didn't get on.

1989: Beckindale Gets Knitting - Again...

1989... the year Tim Berners-Lee invented the World Wide Web, the Berlin Wall came down, Acid House Raves rocked youth culture, Sky TV was launched and, over in America, Game Boy arrived...

And the year also brought a new knitting book from Emmerdale Farm, the first since 1983. Out came the needles across the land.

On the cover were Kate (Sally Knyvette) and Joe (Frazer Hines) Sugden. After a stormy relationship, they tied the knot in '89, but married life was not to be peaceful as Kate found her organic venture at Crossgill beset by slugs, and her daughter, Rachel (Glenda McKay) tumbled into an affair with married Pete Whiteley (Jim Millea).

A traumatic year for Dolly (Jean Rogers) and son Sam Skilbeck (Benjamin Whitehead), also on the knitting book cover, as the Skilbeck marriage finally broke up. For Amos Brearly (Ronald Magill) there was irritation as Mr Wilks (Arthur Pentelow) developed hay fever and sneezed his way through the summer...

Evolution not revolution was the apparent intention of Emmerdale Farm producer Stuart Doughty, the man from Brookside, featured in the knitting book wearing a charming jumper. He took the producer's chair in 1988. His reign saw tense drama in Beckindale in 1989, and the arrival of the Tate family at Home Farm in November of that year.

1989 also saw the deletion of the word "Farm" from the show's title, as Doughty decided to begin dropping some of the farming content - and to reflect the fact that a lot of the show was not actually about the farm.

From a temporary bit-part in 1978, to full-time character status in 1980, Seth Armstrong (Stan Richards) spent quite a lot of 1989 baiting Amos Brearly. Situation normal.

Kathy Merrick (Malandra Burrows) - looking charming in a lovely '80s cardie. The poor girl faced the tragic loss of her husband, Jackie (Ian Sharrock) in 1989 - he accidentally shot himself whilst hunting a troublesome fox.

Amos and Mr Wilks - a stormy year at The Woolpack as Amos realised just how irritating Mr Wilks was (!!!!). He told Seth: "I cannot understand why I've never noticed before, he's got more irritating habits than anyone I've ever known - including you, Seth Armstrong!"

Matt Skilbeck (Frederick Pyne) - lovely cardie, but 1989 had it in for the man. His marriage to Dolly was at an end. Frederick Pyne recorded Matt's last scenes in November, and Matt was last seen on-screen in December.

Caroline Bates (Diana Davies) arrived as a temp secretary at NY Estates in 1984. She soon became permanent. Since his arrival in 1982, Alan Turner (Richard Thorp) had been making a proper pig's ear of things on the estate, and Mrs Bates was his saviour. Romance developed and, in 1989, the two planned to wed. But things didn't work out, and Mrs Bates left Beckindale, in tears, in November to look after her ailing mother in Scarborough.

Matriarch Annie Sugden (Sheila Mercier). Her strength finally crumbled in 1989, and she found herself developing a dependency on tranquillisers. Recovering, she faced new heartache - businessman Denis Rigg's underhand attempts to buy the farm, and then the death of her grandson, Jackie.

Archie Brooks (Tony Pitts) - first turned up clutching a ghetto blaster and sporting a hairdo rather like David Sylvian's, of synth pop group Japan, in November 1983. He sported a very natty alphabet jumper for the knitting book in 1989, and temporarily departed from Beckindale in November to live with his mum when the old outbuilding he called home became too draughty.

When Did Ronald Magill Leave The Permanent Cast Of Emmerdale?

Liz writes:

I know you only deal with the 1980s here, but can you make an exception because I'm mighty puzzled? When did Ronald Magill leave the permanent cast of Emmerdale Farm? I always thought it was January 1991, but I read recently on a Digital Spy soap forum that he "went part time" in 1991, and actually left in 1995?

The Bugle says:

Well, the 1980s are really our bag, but we'll make an exception just this once, Liz!

Ronald Magill left the permanent cast of Emmerdale in 1991, as you originally thought. He did a few short guest stints after that, up to 1995 we believe, but he was guesting, not on a "part time" contact.

When he left in 1991, Ronald Magill was honoured with his own tribute show from YTV - Last Orders For Amos, and also appeared on Wogan, where he had his famous mutton chop sideburns shaved off!

Fond farewell - Amos and Mr Wilks outside the Woolpack in 1991 - Amos actually called Mr Wilks "Henry"! - and (right) Ronald Magill appearing with Terry Wogan shortly afterwards.

When Do We Get To 1984?

1984 - friendly service from Henry Wilks (Arthur Pentelow). Meanwhile, Walter - played by Al Dixon from 1980 to 1985 - gets a new hat and faces a difficult time with charming mine host Amos Brearly (Ronald Magill).

An e-mail from Cerys, who asks:

At the end of last year, you promised us Beckindale tales of 1981 and 1984. Well, we've had lots of 1981 so far, but no '84. Have you changed your mind?

No, Cerys - I just got a load of material together from 1981 and thought I'd do things in year order. We have a couple of further visits to 1981 ahead, then it's 1984, I promise!

1984... when Amos tackles a microwave oven. Can Annie Sugden, a dab hand with an Aga, help? No, sadly not - she's never even seen a microwave oven before... Chaos ahead!

Also, why are Amos' customers periodically deserting The Woolpack en masse? Amos decides to interrogate Walter - who is (strangely) silent...

1984 is a very troubled year at The Woolpack... And elsewhere in Beckindale...

Relive it all here soon!

Amos And Mr Wilks - A Question Of Nationality

Amos serves up Mr Wilks' dinner.

I recently went to a wonderfully inclusive, totally non-racist St George's Day celebration in my locality, attended by people of many different racial backgrounds. It was an altogether terrific day (I was persuaded to do some morris dancing, but fortunately no cameras were present), and since then I've found myself pondering politics.

Devolution has brought about many changes in the UK, including a National Assembly for Wales and a National Parliament for Scotland. England continues to be ruled wholly by the UK Government at present, but there has been a reawakening of the knowledge that England is merely a country within Britain, and not Britain itself (in the past, this fact tended to get muddled!).

So what did Amos and Mr Wilks consider their nationality to be?

Well, back in 1981, Amos described Mr Wilks as being "English and Yorkshire!"

In 1982, Mr Wilks, speaking of Amos, told a Spanish visitor to The Woolpack: "He's not English - he's Yorkshire!"

Interesting...

Amos was definitely Yorkshire. And English too, I'm sure.

But, most of all, he was Amos.

It's my belief that if he'd had "Beautifully Barking" emblazoned across his passport, that would have described him far better than any mere nationality!

1981: A Deaf Man In Beckindale...

In the summer of 1981, a young man called Nicholas Houghton (played by David Gillies) arrived in Beckindale to restore a 9th century cross unearthed in St Mary's churchyard, and to make a plinth so that the cross could be displayed in the church.

The Reverend Donald Hinton was surprised to discover that Mr Houghton was deaf. Nicholas was, however, an expert lip reader, and detected much else via sight. He even knew when the vicarage door bell was rung, due to a brief distracted glance from Donald. When Donald walked up behind Nicholas whilst he was working on the cross in the churchyard, Nicholas turned to greet him, saying he knew he was there because of the shadow the vicar cast on the ground.

At The Woolpack, Amos was fascinated by the visitor, who had saved him from a hefty plumbing bill after repairing a leaking cistern (Amos had already sought to repair it and managed to cause a flood, but that's another story!).

Amos was used as the voice of ignorance in the story-line. He spoke to Mr Wilks about Nicholas:

"I cannot get over it, Mr Wilks - I can't believe as that man is deaf. He seems just like an ordinary human being!"

Henry was perturbed: "Well he is an ordinary human being!"

"I know. Well, I know in't way you mean and I reckon you ought to know in't way I mean, no offence intended!"

"None taken - I was just trying to make..."

Amos broke in and got himself in a verbal twist - as he so often did: "I mean no offence intended to him! By saying what I said, which might 'a' been taken as meaning summat what I didn't mean, but which is true any road, 'cos deaf folk aren't normal, are they?"

"Well, of course they are!" cried Henry. "They can't hear, that's all. You wouldn't say a one-legged man weren't normal, would you?"

"I certainly would! Men are s'posed to have two legs!"

Henry sighed. "Yes they are. But a one-legged man is a perfectly normal man who's just lost a leg, you don't treat him like an idiot because of it, do you?"

"I don't treat anyone that way!" said Amos, highly offended.

Before Nicholas left Beckindale, Donald Hinton spoke to him:

"I suppose there's no way... nothing can be done to get your hearing back? I would like to help."

"To make people understand - that would be the greatest help," said Nicholas. "I'm deaf, yes - I wish I could hear. I wish I could make people understand the way deaf people feel. The kind of world we have to live in. But I'm lucky. I can speak. I can read. I have work. There are far more deaf people that I know of that have none of the compensations I have. If you want to help me, try and make the world understand about them."

1981: Mr Wilks - The Red Indian!

Dolly Skilbeck took her role as head of the Beckindale playgroup very seriously, and had no hesitation in going to Henry Wilks, who had become parish councillor for Beckindale in 1981, when it seemed maintenance was needed at the village hall, where the playgroup was held.

The rent the playgroup paid, which hadn't been raised in years, was increased slightly and some of the major work was carried out. But Dolly still wasn't happy. When a little girl scraped her knee slightly on a nail sticking up out of the floor, Dolly determined to get Henry on-side. The general opinion in Beckindale was that the village was not getting a fair deal out of the rates - in comparison to larger places like Hotten.

Dolly invited Henry to spend some time at the playgroup. At first he was sceptical: children did scrape their knees, and the hall looked fine to him. He spent several hours at the playgroup, getting involved in face painting and reading stories to the children. By the end of it, he was so taken with the playgroup and the children that, although he still didn't see why Dolly was so up in arms, he vowed his support to her.

Dolly was very pleased with herself for seeing the issue through, and even more so when money was provided to carry out the repairs.

Mr Wilks left the playgroup in a great hurry on the day of his visit, realising that he would be late back at The Woolpack, and not wanting to incur the wrath of Amos.

But laughter not frowns greeted his arrival at the pub: he's forgotten to remove his face paint and head dress!

Arthur Pentelow at the Corner Shop, Esholt, in the 1980s. Always a tempering influence on Amos (particularly necessary during Amos' manic-to-the-max '80s era), Mr Wilks was one of Beckindale's best-loved villagers, and a huge favourite with viewers of Emmerdale Farm.

Amos: When True Love Was Crushed By A Crushed Ukulele

Was Amos ever in love as a young man, asks Cerys? Well, yes, perhaps! Of course, he asked Annie Sugden to marry him in an early episode, but that was purely for practical reasons - and he wasn't exactly young at the time. However, in 1982, he revealed a tragic story to Mr Wilks...

"I might 'a' married Gillian Partridge. Aunt Emily thought I should 'a' done."

"Who were Gillian Partridge?" asked Mr Wilks.

"Oh, very talented, Mr Wilks, very talented!" said Amos. "You've not seen her like this side 'a' Bridlington!"

"Mmm, sounds very impressive - what did she do?" asked Mr Wilks.

"George Formby impersonations," said Amos.

"Oh dear!" Mr Wilks began to chuckle. Even Walter was smiling. But then neither was what you might call sensitive.

"She'd 'a' won that talent contest - if Uncle Arthur 'adn't sat on her ukulele!" continued Amos. "It were all his fault. He ruined what were likely to be a very fruitful relationship!"

And so, it seems, Amos' youthful dreams of romance were crushed.

Just like Gillian's ukulele.

The Emmerdale Farm Who's Who Of The 1980s - Part 2: Always There - Cast And Characters Who Spanned The Entire Decade...

If you switched on Emmerdale Farm in the 1980s, who would you be assured of seeing throughout the entire decade? First and foremost would have to be Sheila Mercier (Annie Sugden), seeing out a decade of tremendous change in Beckindale. She remained a central character, although her scenes were somewhat reduced after the death of Toke Townley (Sam Pearson) in 1984. Annie was still very much the head of the Sugden family and could always be relied upon to provide support and advice. In 1989, her strength appeared to be crumbling, and she became briefly addicted to tranquillisers. But, Annie being Annie, she was soon back to her old self. And we were very glad.

Ronald Magill - the wonderful Amos Brearly of The Woolpack Inn - was another splendid Emmerdale Farm actor who spanned the entire 1980s. This was a tremendous decade for Amos, as Seth Armstrong (Stan Richards) became a regular at The Woolpack in 1980, and the very odd silent Walter (Al Dixon) also joined the regulars that year. Amos chuntered at Walter and was wound up to the hilt by Seth. Amos' 1980s were days of fads, strange relatives, allotment rivalries, strippers, leaking cisterns and general mayhem at The Woolpack. Simply terrific.

Arthur Pentelow - "Mr Wilks" to Amos, "Henry" to others, was the calming voice of reason at The Woolpack and a great friend and business partner to the family up at Emmerdale Farm. He also became a parish councillor during the 1980s. Henry survived all Amos' absurdities, and his daughter Marian's marriage problems, and was the man Tom Merrick advised Jackie to turn to if ever he ran into problems. Henry was never a saint but he was a warm and caring character who hid his warm heart under a gruff exterior. We loved Mr Wilks. We loved Amos. We loved The '80s Woolpack!

Stan Richards - Seth Armstrong - began his career in Emmerdale Farm as a temporary character in 1978, made several appearances afterwards, and became a full-timer in 1980.

In the summer of 1980, Seth switched loyalties from The Malt Shovel to The Woolpack and was soon appearing in the Emmerdale Farm story lines as much as the longer-established characters. Seth's glory days became even more glorious when Alan Turner arrived at Home Farm in 1982.

Almost making it on to this list were Frederick Pyne - Matt Skilbeck - who left the cast in November 1989 (Matt last appeared on-screen in December), Hugh Manning - the Rev Donald Hinton, who left the cast in the summer of 1989 and Clive Hornby (Jack Sugden) - who made his debut in February 1980. Frazer Hines (Joe Sugden) was present at the start and at the end of the 1980s, but took three years out (1983-1986) in-between!

1981: The Beckindale Bugle

"But I've got my finger on't pulse, Mr Tyler..."

When Amos Brearly answered the phone at The Woolpack one morning in late May 1981, he never had any inkling of what was about to happen. He was a blithe, free spirit (well, as much as a Brearly could be) when he lifted the receiver. He was an absolute wreck when he hung up, blood pounding in his ears, despondency fighting intense anger, his life in absolute tatters.

And the first thing he did was to charge through to the back room and tear up the latest edition of The Hotten Courier - under the startled gaze of Mr Wilks: "Bear witness, Mr Wilks, to my severing - finally and forever - any connection I may have had with this worthless and dishonourable newspaper!"

As it was well known in Beckindale that Amos considered The Courier, particularly his contributions, as being just one step down from The Times, this statement came as something of a shock.

Amos, quivering and quaking (what would folk think?!) told Mr Wilks his sorry tale: Mr Tyler, the editor of The Hotten Courier, had decided to make staff cutbacks. And he had decided that Frank Hencoller could easily cover the "Beckindale angle". Amos described Mr Hencoller as a "drunken layabout" with as much journalistic ability as "a goose quill - still stuck in't backside o't goose, an' all!"

Once word got out, Amos would be a laughing stock. He decided to tweak the truth - he would tell people he had resigned - tendered his resignation due to pressure of work.

Still in a turmoil, Amos sought refuge on his allotment where Seth Armstrong, having heard the news of Amos' resignation from The Courier on his morning visit to The Woolpack, came to haunt him.

"If you've owt to get on with, get on with it - I'm in no mood for idle chatter!" said Amos.

But that didn't stop Seth - who was there to have a little dig around in Amos' brain pan and discover the truth behind his "resignation". Never a good liar, Amos spouted something about a "conflict of personality" at the paper. Seth leapt on that. But Mr Wilks had said Amos had resigned through lack of time.

"Aye, that an' all," muttered Amos, pretending to be concentrating on his allotment.

Seth buzzed around like an irritating gnat: "Not quite up to scratch, weren't we?"

Amos rose up before him: "That's nowt to do wi' it. There's problems on newspapers as don't occur to those as isn't un-initiated."

Unitiated? Well, that's what he said!

Amos told Seth that without a skilled local correspondent, The Courier would soon notice the difference.

"'appen!" said Seth, still gleefully stirring the pot. "But 'appen gap'll be filled - think on that, Amos!" and Seth set off on his bike, happy at the successful completion of yet another Brearly wind up.

But Amos was smiling. Happen the gap for a skilled local correspondent would be filled - and who better to fill it than himself? After all, The Courier didn't have a copyright on the local news...

"Why worry about editors and suchlike when you can be your own?"

The next morning, Mr Wilks found Amos up and about early, rummaging around for his trusty old camera, claiming not to have slept a wink the night before. He was clearly excited about something, and was soon sharing his news with Mr Wilks:

"I'm going to produce my own Beckindale local newsheet!"

Mr Wilks asked how he intended to get it printed? Amos had a small, second-hand photocopier in mind - going for the knock-down price of £20 in Hotten. The rest was easy:

"I'll write out all me own copy, type it out, and then get photos of items and events of interest, I'll sell it over't counter - could attract trade an' all!"

"If you felt like making any contribution, I might give you a byline to yourself, a photograph of yourself alongside. How about that, eh?" chortled Amos.

"I don't know if I could stand the honour, Amos!" said Mr Wilks.

Amos does his David Bailey act.

Amos went to Hotten to buy the small, "knock down price", second hand photocopier. I must say, it shows how determined he was: I've never known anybody to have a photocopier at home! "It could be best investment as I ever made!" said Amos to a slightly doubting Mr Wilks.

Amos told Mr Wilks he wouldn't demean himself by carrying advertisements in The Bugle. "No newspaper makes a profit these days - it's a public service!"

"Are you sure gratifying a personal whim doesn't come into it?" queried Mr Wilks.

"I don't know what you're on about!" cried Amos, The Virtuous.

Had Amos any idea of a name for his new venture? asked Mr Wilks. Amos had.

"How do you fancy ring of Beckindale Bugle?!" Amos smiled. And he donned his eyeshade to add an authentic touch to the proceedings.

Amos was soon running amok with his camera: he caused the vicar to upset a pile of books and papers when he got him to pose with a cricket bat at the Vicarage, and got on NY Estates' manager Richard Anstey's nerves by leaving the lens cap on the camera, thus having to re-take the picture of Mr A.

Jack Sugden was startled as Amos photographed him with some of the cows up at Emmerdale, and John Tuplin was bemused when Amos photographed him with some of NY's cattle. Amos tended to rush at each of his victims, sorry, I mean "subjects", jabbering away ten to the dozen, click the shutter, and be off, never taking more than one shot to ensure any quality control.

At The Woolpack, Amos announced to Seth that he was preparing a "photographic portfolio of local worthies" for The Bugle - and Seth just might be in the first edition - although he wasn't promising owt...

The Beckindale Bugle was put together by the original cut and paste method. Letraset lettering was bought for headings, and each article was then typed up in neat columns, cut out, and pasted on to a blank sheet of paper - together with the various headings. Amos planned to add the photographs when they had been processed.

He told Mr Wilks that he planned to run off "a couple of hundred" copies to start with. Publication day would be the same day as The Hotten Courier. The price of a Bugle would be three pence more than a Courier - 15p.

Mr Wilks is fed up with looking after a busy pub on his own and insists that Amos comes through to the bar to help. Amos decides he must burn some midnight oil after closing time...

Although Amos insisted that his publication would be a quality item, it makes me smile to remember just what poor quality photocopied photographs were. The process used by Amos was the one used by me and my classmates on my school's quarterly magazine back in the early 1980s. Nowadays things are totally different - and it all seems positively prehistoric!

Pasting up is coming on a treat - what a great front page...

Mr Wilks leaves Amos at his photocopier, to burn the midnight oil...

... the night ticks on into the wee small hours...

... and Mr Wilks discovers Amos slumped over his typewriter, dead to the world! Never mind. By the morning Amos had run off all the Bugle pages that did not feature photographs.

What seemed an insurmountable setback lay just ahead: "Wilson's want five days to develop that film, say there's nowhere round 'ere can do it quicker!" Amos mournfully told Mr Wilks after an early morning telephone call to the shop.

Mr Wilks had the solution: "Run off an addendum saying that the photographs referred to will be on display in The Woolpack during normal licencing hours sometime next week. Could be good for trade!"

Amos had to admit (although only to himself) that Mr Wilks could be a good and useful friend. At times.

And he'd learn by his mistake - for issue two of The Bugle, he'd have the photographs ready well in time, he decided.

Afternoon trade was brisk that day, and Amos had just given his proof copy of The Beckindale Bugle to the Rev Hinton, who was in the bar, to look at and make comments on "points of style", when Frank Hencoller came rolling in.

"You've got a rival now - that'll keep you on your toes!" Seth told him, as Mr H became aware of the vicar's reading matter.

"Not my fault, I only do what Editor asks me to," said Mr Hencoller, who was more than slightly squiffy.

His attempts to make peace with Amos were unsuccessful: "No 'ard feelings!"

"There may be no 'ard feelings on your part, I'll keep my feelings to meself!" Amos huffed.

Time flew by and the deadline loomed... Amos collated and stapled all his pages, and The Bugle hit the streets...

The photographs were processed and went on display at The Woolpack, as promised.

A selection of Amos' "Bugle" photographs...

"Why does everybody in your photographs look so surprised?" asked Mr Wilks. "I mean, even the cows look a bit startled."

"Well, folk are not accustomed to 'avin' Press on their doorstep," sniffed Amos.

Despite the advent of The Bugle, Mr Wilks did not intend to desert The Courier...

... but then that newspaper, via Frank Hencoller, committed a most ghastly act! Amos came charging out of The Woolpack, clutching The Courier as Mr Wilks closed the trap doors to the cellar.

"I let Vicar 'ave a look at my proof copy, remember? It must've got left on't bar and Hencoller must've walked off with it! He's used my match story, my show story, my vegetable story, in some cases word for word!"

Amos was beside himself and made to tear the copy of The Courier he held to shreds, but Mr Wilks wrenched it from him.

"That's censorship, Amos! What if I want to have a read of it still?"

" Then I hope you'll do me't kindness of readin' it elsewhere than in my presence!" cried Amos.

Was there anything that could be done about Hencollar's plaigiarism, asked Mr Wilks?

"Nowt!" said Amos.

As Mr Wilks sought to uncrumple The Courier, Amos' attention was caught by a figure across the street. "There's Walter. Eh up, he's bought a copy o't Bugle from't shop!

"Your first sale, Amos - let's hope you keep it up!" smiled Mr Wilks.

It was small consolation. But definitely some compensation.

Sales were going quite well and then Mr Tyler, editor of The Courier, phoned The Woolpack the day after publication...

Amos listened to what Mr T had to say: the gist of it was that Frank Hencoller had fallen down on the job quite literally - he'd collasped in The Black Bull in Hotten the night before and hadn't turned in for work that morning. Mr Tyler wanted Amos to cover the Beckindale Versus NY Estates Cricket Match. Amos agreed. On the condition that he was reinstated as local correspondent for Beckindale on the Courier staff.

Amos' demand was readily met, and Mr Tyler promised to put it in writing straight away.

It really was a famous victory.

"And where does that leave The Bugle?" asked Mr Wilks.

"Just as a threat, Mr Wilks," said Amos. "I reckon Courier were worried about competition. I knew they would be when they got to hear."

Amos revealed that he knew that Mr Tyler couldn't do without him: "A good newspaper needs folk with their finger on't pulse!"

But it was the end for The Beckindale Bugle.

"Mind, Bugle served a good purpose though," said Amos. "Perhaps I might not've got my job back if it wasn't for all the work I put in on't Bugle." And he sailed, gloriously victorious, into the living quarters.

"And if it hadn't been for Frank Hencoller being indisposed in't Black Bull!" said Mr Wilks. But not too loudly.