“I’M not going to school, mother. I don’t feel well…”
October 1972. Daytime TV was in its infancy. And there wasn’t a thing wrong with me. Other than the fact I didn’t fancy double maths with Mrs Bramley, that is, a Wombwell High School teacher who infamously concluded lessons with the immortal words: “And for homework tonight…”
It was more than that, though. I wanted to retain my record of having watched every single episode of new drama series, Emmerdale Farm, which had commenced during half-term, competing for ratings alongside BBC Pebble Mill at One, General Hospital and Crown Court.
Set in the fictional village of Beckindale, this televisual feast centred upon the lives of the Sugden family; widow Annie; grandad Sam; sons Jack and Joe. Add on Matt and Dolly Skilbeck and infectious Woolpack landlord Amos Brearley – mister Wilks, mister Wilks! – alongside a host of mundane, everyday plotlines and the tranquil, charming recipe was complete.
That was then, mind. Hop aboard Dr Who’s Tardis and what do we have now? Emmerdale but without the Farm. Well, there is a farm, actually, though seemingly devoid of livestock. There’s not a lot of ploughing going on, either – plus which, eggs are obviously sourced from Eric Pollard’s minimarket as opposed to the traditional farmyard chicken coop.
I can’t deny I’m still a fan, though, watching Emmerdale every night. Sometimes it’s only twice or thrice, though, because it’s occasionally put on ice in order to accommodate random rugger or footie matches that leave many Emmerdaleites seething, hankering for their Dales fix.
Miss an episode in the 70s and you might fail to witness Alan Turner, having a ding-dong with a misdiagnosing vet at Home Farm. Miss one nowadays and next time you tune in your favourite character might have disappeared, arrested, kidnapped or murdered – possibly even abducted by aliens given the sensationalist nature of modern-day plotlines.
If you’re really unlucky, a whole host of favourites might have vanished. A plane might have crashed on the village, culling half the flipping cast. I mean, it wouldn’t be the first time, would it? A once in a century storm might brew up, ripping everything asunder, or a multi-car pile-up could occur, wreaking untold havoc. Shock-horror, an insatiable serial killer might even be on the loose, transforming the village into a Halloween type slasher fest – it’s happened before and will doubtless happen again.
Back in the day, we had Appointment With Fear – a Friday night date with Dracula, Frankenstein or the Mummy. When the spooky music came on, I’d habitually hide behind my cushion - something I’m increasingly doing nowadays when it’s Emmerdale time, practising relaxation breathing techniques to combat the ominous, scary-scary theme tune.
The Emmerdale body count is so high sometimes, I think I’ve put Midsomer Murders on by mistake. Here’s an idea, then; perhaps the two programmes could be spliced or do a joint episode or something. I can see it all now – DCI Barnaby casting an investigative glance over the mysterious disappearance of multiple characters on a bus trip from hell to Hotten.
Come to think of it, we could have a guest detective week, a procession of wily fictional sleuths, getting to the bottom of another unexplainable spike in violence and skulduggery. Imagine Columbo rocking up in the village. Or Chief Ironside. Sherlock Holmes even; elementary, my dear Watson – though definitely not in Emmerdale.
Or how about a Ross Kemp’s Extreme World special edition? The big man would need to come equipped, mind; Kevlar helmet, goggles and body armour, plus bodyguards galore. Forget Somalian pirates, Colombian drug barons and the Sicilian Mafia – the man from Eastenders doesn’t know the meaning of danger; not until he’s visited Emmerdale, anyway.
Right, that’s it. I’m off. Friday’s episode is on soon and I need to psyche myself up ready for it. Afterwards, I might stick Saving Private Ryan on– you know, lighten the mood a bit.
Hang on a sec, there’s someone at the door. Interlude. Music. Patience is a virtue, remember. More music. Resume. Right, I’m back. It was someone asking if I wanted to donate to Charity. I said, dream on, pal – those Emmerdale Dingles earn ten times what I do.
