They Sought Refuge In Ushaw Moor

St Wilfrid's school is situated in the Gateshead area and its log book entry for 01.09.1939 states:

All children assembled in departments as instructed. Infant party numbered 24 children and 5 voluntary helpers under my supervision. We joined Juniors and Seniors in Junior playground and after prayers and hymns for God's protection on all, we set out for Gateshead Station at 12.30pm, our destination Ushaw Moor.

The source of this information is the 'Tomorrow's History Made In The North East site'.

Do any of our elders recall an intake from Gateshead?

WB

Up For The Cup

Local school teams have had some significant success over the years, much of it noted by the Durham County Schools' Football Association.

The County Cup competition began in the 1908/09 season and was clearly very popular; it is reported that about 10,000 people attended the first final. A year later New Brancepeth School reached the final only to fall to Crook. A few seasons later New Brancepeth again got to the final but  lost to Ryhope, however they made no mistake in the final of 19i6/17 when beating a school called Colliery from Sunderland.

Bearpark School featured in two County Cup finals: 1926/27, losing to Eppleton, and 1929/30, losing to Chopwell.

The Londonderry Cup is the most prestigious local cup competition and Waterhouses won it in 1918/19. Twenty years later Ushaw Moor School very nearly emulated them but lost in the final to Hookergate.  There is no mention of 'RC' so it was probably the Council School rather than Roman Catholic team.

It is important that local football continues to receive support. Why not follow one or more of your local school, village and town teams? You might decide to continue following Newcastle or Sunderland but think what you could do with the money not spent on financially fattening up fit  professional footballers; you could buy a new carpet or car or visit Australia. Or eat marshmallows in a bath at a Hilton hotel. 

WB

Normal Service Resumes!

I telephoned my half-sister Sheila Albone [as it was] today in order to catch up with family news. It turned out to be a fun call and full of information and good humour. Obviously most of it was not about Ushaw Moor of old but some of it was!

Sheila lived in Ushaw Moor during the period 1954 to 1960. She recalled some of her school friends of that time with great affection; Brenda Benson, Ann Stoddart and Cynthia. She got stuck on Cynthia's surname so my brain delved into the memory bank and within two seconds up popped Beetlestone. Sure it might be Beatlestone, or a similiar spelling, but boy was Sheila impressed with my brain feat. Sheila explained that Cynthia spent some holidays with our family in a village called...something or other. Was it Newbiggin Sheila? 'Yes it was' said Sheila 'how clever of you'.

In passing Sheila talked about her brother, my half-brother, Colin Albone [b Ushaw Moor1954 died Stanley, Co. Durham 2002] and how he had coached the young Paul Collingwood at Shotley Bridge Cricket Club. Colin was the club's professional at the time. Now I had not known that he had coached our great battler Collingwood - he of Ashes fame!

So Cynthia Beetlestone: where are you now? For that matter where is Ann Stoddart and Brenda Benson?

WB

Being Gentle With Yourself

The mental reliving of the past requires as much honesty as we can muster but we will surely embellish our modest triumphs and distort and rationalise our disgraces. That is what we do and some of us are more adept at it than others; for some a  past batting cameo becomes a match saving performance   and for others the act of hanging out clothing on a windy day, in an efficient and technically correct manner, is given internal plaudits way beyond what can be reasonably justified.

I imagine that there are many long standing marriages that survive only because a partner’s flirting with someone else failed to take off.  I also imagine that railway ticket cheats went on to greater things by holding their nerve under the scrutiny of the unexpected ticket inspector. Oh and what about the undiscovered drivers that got away with  driving  fifty yards  down the dual carriage way, the wrong way, in order to rectify a missed turning?    

We must be gentle with ourselves and chart a way forward that protects our self esteem and moral fibre. In so doing we must not be afraid of failure; an intelligent response to that is to welcome the learning experience and push on until the ceiling hurts the head.

WB

I am Sure That Santa Claus Does Exist

I have believed in his existence for years but I sometimes experienced a wave of doubt. Afterall, I asked myself, how can he visit so many houses in one night? That has never been answered to my satisfaction, but what do I know?

This Christmas I got crafty: I placed some cotton thread across the inside of the lounge door [we do not have a chimney] and waited to see what happened.  The Christmas Tree is in the lounge and presents are often placed around it. Would the thread be broken and presents be placed by the tree? If I found broken thread would it be Santa's doing?

Well I have to announce that I found it broken as early as 6.10 am this morning. My son could not possibly have broken it because 6.10 am is an absolute impossibility for him. My mother in law is in her 90th year and is far too clever and mature to think about distorting the truth. My wife never left my bed; I know that because  I was awake listening to the World Service on the wireless. The conclusion is obvious and life affirming: it was Santa Claus.

Yes I know that Santa has his rivals e.g. parents are known to buy for children, but they merely supplement Santa. Silly of you not to realise that.

WB

Reminisce, Reflect And Rant?

We are within touching distance of Christmas Day. Although it is a time when friends and family get together to drink and be merry dwindling numbers go to church to worship and there are too many people out on the streets begging, some of them mournfully and some apathetically - thankfully however there are a few with their spirit just about intact. 

Wherever we find ourselves it is a time to look back. Mining families are good at it. The memory of the orange in the pit sock comes tumbling out with no prompting at all. The box of multi coloured crayons also springs to mind as does, for some, the winter of 1947. That winter  is capable of winding Brian M [the mining village poet] up like a clockwork train or soldier, or both; it is a pleasure to read the contributions of that man.

I could go on to describe many a fond memory of the past, that is for ever associated with Christmas, but I have already done so in earlier contributions and will not risk boring anyone too much. I can however touch on the idea of reflection. To remember without trying to make sense of it can be self limiting; when nothing is learnt it leaves us in danger of overblown sentimentality. A well respected friend of mine reminded me that lessons can be learnt from reflection, however old one is, and it can lead to better and perhaps less selfish experiences.   

I could easily descend into rant mode. I don't need to be on a bar stool after five pints of beer to do that. No, I will not rant, I will  be concise; our government brings me despair as well as  financial loss despite already being a poor man in relative terms. The Tories are objectionable; too many of them laugh on the back benches at inappropriate times and it reveals an uncaring and unintellectual approach to the electorate as a whole. As for the front bench there really are too many full blown Tories of the worst kind. Chaos is a topical word at the moment so let us hope that when the majority of us experience it we then reminisce, reflect and vote accordingly.

Merry Christmas.

WB

Ushaw Moor Junior School Football Team 1981

Back Row
Stephen Guy. Adrian Traylen. Nathan Brown. Wayne Kilbourne.

...Second Row
Philip Jackson. Kevin Stangroom. Stewart Anderson. Neil Watson. Neil Miley.

Front Row
Gary Toase. Richard Whittaker. Paul Robson. Glynne Hall. Stephen Scott.


Thanks
Jim Whittaker

 

 

 

 

 

Enough To Make You Spit?

Punching and kicking can hurt but what is the problem with being on the  receiving end of  a stream of phlegm? Full on, right in the face. Well for a start it's a health hazard. TB is making a comeback and when that fact is allied to an increase in spitting it becomes an even bigger concern.

 I was a victim of unprovoked spitting back in the middle 50s; I must have been about five foot five inches tall and seemingly easy pickings for a much taller bully. The perpetrator  was about three years older than me and at the time seemed to be about six feet tall. His name was Waugh and I thought better of retaliation; after all I was at the entrance to the cinema in Station Road and looking forward to the show; for another thing 5'5' v 6 feet is a bit like New Brancepth FC v Newcastle United FC Ltd. No chance. No way.

What was going through his geographically large but strangely tiny brain? Was he envious about my shorts or the shilling in my pocket courtesy of my grand-dad Dicky Hope? It could not be the latter because the shilling was not on show. Was this Waugh a victim of some disease  known only to sociology, or some other ology?

I certainly made amends even though I had not sought to do so. He cornered me not far from Temperance Terrace, sometime after the original incident, and my response was to kick him in the leg and run. He hopped about in pain as well as surprise and never bothered me again. 

Were you ever bullied at school? Perhaps you were a bully but reformed in adulthood. Perhaps you were able to go through school without any such trouble. I do know that at least one member of 4a was unhappy at school because of bullying but the details will remain confidential forever. 

Dennis the Menace never went to our school. I cannot recall a red and black striped jumper and sticky up black hair. I can recall the late Titchy Thompson as being a fly in the hair but he was no bully to speak of.

WB

The Pint And Kettle

Tea has been a social lubricator across the classes for a very long time and people in mining communities were no different. The tea cups came out at times of  sadness, tragedy, exhaustion, boredom and gossip.

I am told that a very young brother of my natural father was knocked down and killed by a hearse in Langley Moor. He ran into the road without warning. No doubt not all  the mourners restricted themselves to tea in the aftermath.

My great aunt's first husband fell down a pit shaft during the early part of WW2. I imagine that family discussions in the following weeks were laced with tea, alcohol and sometimes both.

During periods of recreation some married  miners were  drawn to the alcohol driven working men's club rather than taking the opportunity to spend time with a better half. A great- grandmother  of mine had a drink problem and the conclusion drawn by this family historian is that she was neglected and  somewhat socially adrift.

Bored and neglected women could resort to female gossip. I don't think my great-grandmother did much of that but many women did. What were they gossiping about? Was it about the teenage girl that had just married a forty year old man? Was it about the girl that had all the appearance of being pregnant? What about the unpolished step at 27?  Or was it about the latest price hike at Broughs? 

Of course tea and beer had  competitors. Dandelion and Burdock, lemonade and gingerbeer spring to mind. Especially gingerbeer; my grandmother had a big brown bottle or two of it delivered every week and I can recall the pleasure of being offered a glass of it.

During the current troubled times the pint, and alcohol in general, have more serious overtones. Cheap beer and spirits are fuelling disorder in our towns and villages yet our government seems to have settled for supermarkets and others doing the right thing rather than legislating against heavily discounted prices. Please correct me about that if appropriate.

 To kettle or 'kettling' is very topical. It's a police tactic of containing protesters in a particular area. It is not unlike the 'corralling' of cattle. I am confident that the vast majority of students wish to demonstrate in a peaceful manner but that some have behaved very badly. Likewise I am sure that the vast majority of policemen are well motivated to do the right thing but it is likely that the remainder are inadequate in such  traumatic and testing situations. Of course the best way to establish the truth is to observe a student protest. Would it be helpful to kettle the police in order to give them a better understanding of what it's like to be caught short, hungry and without that cup of tea or pint?  Perhaps not.   

WB

Ushaw Moor Memories 2011 Calendar

Ushaw Moor 2011 Calendar now online.

In PDF Format to print out.

Ushaw Moor Memories 2011 Calendar

Heroes Fill in The Gaps

Some  films portray worrying cracks that develop into alarming gaps and  perhaps the very best example of that is the film 2012. If you have not seen it please consider doing so. Sadly the Ushaw Moor memories section seems to be catching the mood. A pattern is forming: I say goodbye in a  theatrical way - accompanied by  Time To Say Goodbye, on Youtube - and then feel drawn back to fill a gap  in contributions. Not to worry though because there are far more important things to ponder.

Seekers of the truth  can help us to ponder upon issues and fill in gaps. As the weather is cold and white let's imagine them in your favourite pub. Who might you select? I would go for a big dream ticket of: WW2 British agent Violette Szabo, journalist Christopher Hitchens, Professor Richard Dawkins,The Speaker John Bercow, a bomb disposal officer and Bill Bailey. Pints, shorts and Champagne all round until the early morning. 

Violette Szabo was a very brave woman as well as very beautiful. You may recall  she was portrayed in the film 'Carve Her Name With Pride' . I have pondered about recommending her first name as suitable for our first born  grand-daughter, if I ever have one;  however  i t was pointed out to me that cruel school children might call any such child 'Viennetta', after the ice cream. All right, what about 'Rainbow' as an alternative? No?

Christopher Hitchens has a life threatening illness yet he still has the strength to proclaim his atheism. He does it bravely and brilliantly. His command of English, as well as some important complex issues, is exceptionally good.

Professor Dawkins is an adept explainer of some science issues and neatly puts religion in context. He always speaks clearly but often gets described as strident by Christians that feel threatened by his calm, well spoken and sincere presentations.  

I understand that some big players in the Tory ranks do not like The Speaker John Bercow, but he is brilliant and pulls no punches. If you have the time and the facility [TV] observe the way he operates in the House Of Commons.

Bomb disposal officers are worthy of the utmost respect. Their courage is awesome. I salute them. I feel humble.  

Bill Bailey? A good natured, amusing, thoughtful comedian cum musician. I hope to catch him tomorrow night in London, as well as in my dream pub.

There you are, another gap filled. I might now get the message

 'perhaps this would have been better on your own blog Wilf'

 and if so I would not be able to argue very well if the Cloughy cane came out. I hope he is not as hard as Harry Barlow with those downward, painful, strokes of hard wood.

WB

Albert Street

Not that long before World War One Walter Lewin and his wife Hannah lived at 19 Albert Street. Their neighbours at number 20 were Tommy Moffat and wife Jane. Does any of this mean anything to followers of this site? Does it trigger a memory or two?

WB

The Christmas Card Ritual

Some people find Christmas cards a chore but I don't. They are an opportunity to say hello and best wishes, or some similar sincere message. Colourful cards can brighten up many a living room during the dark days before Christmas. That is my take on cards but I know that others will wheel out words such as chore, pointless, expensive, time consuming and even a  lost opportunity to fund tigers and leopards.

That is not to say that the card ritual is without problems. Take my half-sister; I love her dearly [even though I seldom see her owing to geographical considerations] but she is forever sending us a card with a drawing of a  robin or robins on it. Is it the case that she likes robin cards and thinks we will feel the same way?  Whilst I am always thrilled to spot a robin in our garden  the predictability of the robin card, post marked Stanley, can be a bit monotonous. 

Another dilemma can crop up when suddenly we do not get a card from a couple. Was it postal negligence or a case of being wilfully struck off their list of favoured people? Are they ill?  Was it something I said or did not do? And do I send our card to them anyway? I usually do! I send cards to people because I like them and whether or not they send me one is more often than not irrelevant to me.

Then there is the moody blues problem. It is my family job to deliver cards to the neighbours [defined as anywhere within five hundred yards of our home] but if I am so mentally tired that I do not want to engage in conversation the delivering might well be done in the dark. But what if it's snowing or raining? What if I disturb a pet dog or cat and as a result find myself engaged in a conversation,that is not of my making, with the owner? I grin and bear it and give of myself anyway.

Then there is the task of matching people to card design. Some feedback last July suggests that I do not always get it right. Evey year I send a jolly card to an esteemed and lovely religious couple; invariably my card has a drawing of a Victorian stage coach, or perhaps a snow laden village in late afternoon, but neither drawing acknowledges the Christian message. I need to reconsider that problem.

What about timing? Well this year our plan is to post the cards in the second week of December. I do not want to send them too early and be labelled a Christmas nut.

Merry Christmas to you all and best wishes for 2011.

WB

Await More Body Bashing After Rocky And Don

In August I was a slip of a lad as well as a proud father of the bride, but that was ten pounds ago and I am not talking about money. It gets worse;  Christmas is coming. It is true that my ongoing Nordic walking will aid the morale as tarts, pies and puddings pile in during that mystical period called Christmas, but there will be blood and gore before the January weigh in.

It has been a problem since I was a kid; first there was the spotted dick and custard period followed by a decade of bread and butter - to fuel dashes down the football flanks - then, worst of all, Quality Street and Mars Bars of the just below obese period. 

I was watching a bit of  X Factor tonight, whilst at the same time skimming The Independent, when I suddenly announced to my wife 'this is it' I will restart my journey to fitness tomorrow. Tomorrow, tomorrow, why wait until tomorrow? Because it is bleeding cold and dark that's why. There will be no stopping me tomorrow; salads, tomato juices and porridge will be the major drivers of my regime, but not necessarily in that order. Cheescake is for the girls. Exercise is for men. Will those last two sentences get the response they fully deserve?

I withdrew from Facebook several weeks ago and was disappointed to find that as a consequence many of the photographs I submitted to  this site disappeared. It was not intentional and I am sorry. I withdrew from Facebook because I found it too often banal. There were some interesting contributions but not enough to maintain my interest.   

I have previously submitted articles about Christmas time in Sleetburn and Ushaw Moor and despite the risk of too much duplication here is a bit about them. My stepfather very probably 'borrowed' a Christmas Tree from the Coal Board's property in 1952; the smell of pine trees still  evokes fond memories of that period and as a kid I was entranced by tree lights; I will own up: I still am. I also like the sight of rich red Christmas Pudding wrappers.

Christmas was not Christmas without the Beano. The front page always had lots of snow around the drawings. I recall presents of football annuals, especially the one showing Ray Straw scoring for Derby in a 7-2 win against Chesterfield in 1957. I also remember an evening winter walk in the area of Bracken Court; I recall the crunch beneath my feet as boot met four of five inches of snow. Ginger wine and  the film 'Stagecoach' with John Wayne also spring to mind as  Christmas memories. Then there was the  tiny model aeroplane I bought from a shop opposite the post office in Sleetburn; I wonder who it was that served me and what happened to her after that.

WB

Don Cockell v Rocky Marciano

British boxer Don Cockell's fight with world champion Rocky Marciano took place on the 16th of May 1955 and there was a lot of money riding on it: forget seamy gambling dens on both sides of the Atlantic and focus on the Ushaw Moor County School  playground a day or two before the fight. The author of this piece, bad boy Wilf, bet young and blond John Vasey sixpence that Marciano would retain his world title. He did and John paid up. Sixpence then is worth about 50 pence now and  would  enable me to buy the best part of a standard bar of Cadbury's chocolate or twenty per cent of a pint of beer. Not life changing then, but fun.

From what I can gather Cockell won the first round and lost the subseqent eight. A technical knockout finished it. Cockell was a worthy fighter and this is confirmed by his record of 81 fights 66 wins [38 by knockout] 1 draw and 14 defeats.

Many youngsters were enthralled by the sports stars of those days; I for one can recall getting up at four in the morning to glue myself to the radio so as to listen to England's test match progress in Australia. I can still recall the names of many of my cricketing heroes of those days, for example Peter May, Colin Cowdrey, Trevor Bailey and Frank Tyson. I cannot name many of the current team's players, apart from Collingwood, Anderson and one or two others. Most of us were innocent then: we woke up feeling excited about the day and whether it was sunny, rainy, or a sea of snow, we were up for it. These days I sometimes [but not always] find it difficult to recapture that feeling of excitement, largely because the reality of this troubled world is not far from the forefront of my mind.

The reality is that there is much corruption and I suspect it might be many times  more in excess of what I currently imagine it to be. I am old enough to be aware that I am virtually powerless against the fundamental injustices of this planet but big enough to know that I must not capitultate without putting up a few chosen fights against injustice. These days it is not just a case of a silver sixpence on Rocky Marciano, rather a protest against the worst excesses of religion, politics and miscelleneous grubby and unsavoury groups and individuals.   So when I am invited to give a talk, on this or that, I will say my piece, hopefully with a measure of dignity and an absence of rant. The occasional letter to my MP will be fired off, if I am really livid; the last one, concerning an ambulance industrial dispute,  must have been twenty years ago so 'obsessional'  is not the right word for my letter writing record to date!

WB

Ship shape From The Northern Echo

They’d lived for two years at Ushaw Moor while he trained for the ministry in Durham, are delighted to be back in the North-East and to have more chance of watching Newcastle United. “I sort of married into it,” said Richard.They’re interested in Celtic Christianity, in football, folk music, arts, theatre, bread baking, politics and folk music, though not necessarily in that order, hope to work collaboratively to bring “hope, love and healing”to their communities.“It’s a big job and we can’t do it on our own,” said Richard. “It’s about building teams, working with our partner churches, being patient.”

via Ship shape From The Northern Echo.

Dull, but never boring From The Northern Echo

SIMILARLY aground,

John Robinson in Blackhall Rocks seeks help with a saying much used by his late mother, born and raised in Ushaw Moor.“If anything were untidy or a mish-mash,” recalls John, “she would say it was like Stage Bank Fair.”Mrs Robinson clearly had something in common with the column’s old mum – who’d have been 100 two weeks ago – except that in similar circumstances she preferred to liken the confusion to Staffordshire Bank Fair.Though there are other variations, the reference is undoubtedly to what was said to be England’s one-day fair, held biannually at Stagshaw Bank, four miles north-east of Hexham.There was a colliery there, too.Scale alone suggested chaos, the extent of ale swilling – “it was before the days of teetotalism,” explained an 1850 account – no doubt adding to the general pandemonium. “The fair and other clatter, often mingled with the roar of Wombwell’s lions, was almost a Babel,” said the 19th Century writer.

via Dull, but never boring From The Northern Echo.

Sergeant W. Dennis "Geordie" Belshaw

1808996 RAF - Flight Engineer

Dennis was born on October 8th, 1923, in Ladysmith Terrace, Ushaw Moor, Durham, the only son of Dorothy and Arthur Belshaw. He had an older sister, Dorothy, who sadly died at the age of eight, when Dennis was six, and a younger sister,Vera, who was born not long after Dorothy's death. His father diedwhen he was eight years old, and the family moved to Bearpark.

He left school at 14 years of age and was a delivery boy for a local shop, until starting work in the store at 16, with a view to eventually training as a manager.

He joined the RAF in 1941 at the age of 18, and received his wings in 1943. He and the crew flew many sorties together, until that fateful day in June when they were shot down over Belgium. After initially receiving help from the resistance, Dennis was eventually was captured, and was a POW in Stalag Luft 3 until the end of the war.

On being demobbed, Dennis undertook a government training programme in place for returning men and women, and he chose to become a painter and decorator, eventually becoming a sales executive in later years. He married Lettie just after the war, and they had an only daughter, Anne. They also had two grandchildren, Richard and Elizabeth,to whom Dennis was to speak of his time in the war, the only time he did so in any detail. Dennis sadly died in his late sixties.

via Peter Knox in Belgium - Knox Family Chronicles Knoxetal.

More Comebacks Than A Drunken Boxer

Having enjoyed my  creative writing course at Reading University earlier this year I am delighted to hear that the group intends to continue in its own right; it will be on a monthly basis with one contribution from each writer. I propose to make  my monthly contribution to the group available to you by means of Wilfb's Blog and the first contribution is likely to be up on that new site this October.

From time to time I may have articles that refer to the North East or even the Valley and Paul Clough has the option of putting those, as well as any of the others, onto the Ushaw Moor site if he wants to.

Let's see if  Wilfb's Blog works without a technical hitch. Can't wait.

WB

St Joseph's RC Communion Event

Facebook | Fan photos from Ushaw Moor Memories.

St Joseph's RC Communion Event.
Date: Possibly 1970

Back row Tim Wood, John Wilkinson,Peter Dunn,Neal Sowerby,Andrew Robertson, ?, ? middle row Alan Freeman,Ambrose Burnside, Gary baily,
Clifton Ward, Vincent Chatterton, ?,? front row sorry ladies i do not know

Tim Wood

Family History - School Street ?

Hello,

we recently had an enquiry here in the Local Studies section from an Australian couple trying to trace their family history.  An ancestor was born in 1907 in Ushaw Moor, and they said the birth certificate, if I remember rightly, stated that he was born in School Street, or School Row.  We looked at old OS maps and some relevant books, but found no reference to any street of this name.

A colleague was wondering if possibly local people knew a street by this name - and this is how it got on the birth certificate? - but that officially it was called something else.  I live in Ushaw Moor myself, and did ask my fiancé's mam if she'd heard of a School Street, but she hadn't.  I wondered if you perhaps had any ideas as to where this could have been referring to, please?  Our guess is that it may have been Cook's Cottages, since the school was orginally adjacent?

I would be very grateful if you have any information; your website is very interesting.  I simply said to the Australian couple I would e-mail them if I turned up anything; they will have returned home by now.

Thank you,

~~

Librarian - Information & Local Studies

Clayport Library

Millennium Place

Durham DH1 1WA

Memories of Ushaw Moor in 1947

I seem to be in the dark a bit where the site is concerned with Twitter and Facebook now available on the web site as I am not familiar with these systems.

I have been going over the site and one name Sheila Hall caught my eye and her memories. Is this Sheila Harrison that lived in Hall Avenue? It is now many years since I left Ushaw Moor but it still retains a place in my memories.

My first memories of Ushaw Moor date back to January 1947 when the family moved from New Brancepeth to 38 Victoria Court. We were only in the house a couple of weeks when the vicious winter of that year set in. On one occasion after a blizzard overnight the snow had blown in a drift to the level of the bedroom window. It was a time of austerity just after the war but as kids we were more than happy with what we had. Sweets were on the ration and the best sweet shop in the village was Dents the Bakers next door to Stan Watsons. The shops and stores in the village sold everything that a family required. Leisure facilities were two Cinemas, the Empire and the Club Hall, both buildings sadly demolished recently, the Albion Club (the Bush) at the bottom of Station Road and the Big Club also on Station Road and the Flass and the Station Hotel. One of the highlights of the year was the arrival of the “shows” or as they say on Tyneside the fair. The show ground was a piece of waste ground situted on the left of the road leading to the railway station. Their arrival created great excitement amongst us kids. The trailers were pulled by huge lorries and just after the war also by a couple of traction engines. It was usually a Friday night when the shows opened and the noise of the music and the generators and the bright lights were magic. There were the usual stalls with slot machines, hoopla, rifles, throw the darts and roll your pennies. There were shuggy boats, roundabouts, Waltzer, Flying chairs and the Dodgems to ride on. The shows were a dose of glamour, noise and music in a very, very austere period of our lives.

On one occasion whilst walking to school from New Brancepeth there was the wreckage of an aeroplane on a low loader parked on the same piece of waste ground. It was guarded by armed RAF sentries. I cannot remember whether it was a German aircraft or an RAF plane. Certain shops had their own smells. Winters the Chemists was situated at the bottom of Station Road. Mr Winter the chemist always wore a spotless white dust coat. It was an old fasioned chemists with small wooden drawers with the name of the contents on the front of the drawer. Large glass jars containg ingredients for the medicines prescribed and the smell in the shop was of cleanliness and herbs. There was the smell of fresh bread in the three bakers in the village and the beatiful smell of fish and chips wafting on the breeze most nights of the week from four fish shops. New Brancepeth Co-op Store (Mc Cormicks shop) had different smells for every deparment from the cobblers to the hardware department. Stan Watsons shop on Durham Road had the only two petrol pumps in the village and the pumps were hand operated. Unfortunately the years quickly rolled by and schooldays were finished and the world of work beckoned at the age of fifteen years serving my time as a joiner. Five years in the Army followed, postings in East Africa, the Middle East and Germany then I left the Army and joined Durham County Police. On the amalgamation of the Police Forces in 1974 with the establishment of the new County of Tyne and Wear I stayed on Tyneside with the newly formed Northumbria Police.

Much water has passed under the bridge since I left Ushaw Moor but I think my upbringing in the village turned me into an honest man who is prepared to accept another persons opions and beliefs.

By Brain McLoughlin

noodles29

War hero brother I never had the chance to meet (From The Northern Echo)

Sgt Newton lived in Ushaw Moor, near Durham City. A wireless operator, he was 21 when his plane developed engine problems and crashed, four miles from the end of a seven-hour training flight.

Hazel’s mother, Gertrude, named every pet budgerigar she ever had Tommy and could never bring herself to watch Remembrance Day parades on television. Her father, Herbert, watched, but cried every time.

via War hero brother I never had the chance to meet (From The Northern Echo).

Family of Sergeant Thomas Raine Newton sought From The Northern Echo

Sgt Newton’s parents were Mr and Mrs Bert Newton, of Laurel Avenue, Sherburn Road, Durham, but he lived with his aunt and uncle, Mr and Mrs Aberdeen, in Broom Lane, Ushaw Moor, near Durham City.

After attending Ushaw Moor Council School and being a member of the Ushaw Moor Church Lads’ Brigade, the young Thomas Newton worked as a painter and at Bearpark cokeworks.

A keen sportsman, he won medals for his football achievements.

via Family of Sergeant Thomas Raine Newton sought From The Northern Echo.

Time To Say Goodbye.....But

Well it's the end of July and this is my final piece. It has been a pleasure. I hope my articles during the period April 2006 to date have been of interest. It is sad for me knowing that it's ending, but it has to be; if you wish to gauge the level of my sadness Google into - Time to say goodbye: Andrea Bocelli and Sarah Brightman do a good job for me.

So what is the 'But' in the article heading? Well I can tell you there is a major hope of a big boost to the site's collection of photographs; in a bedroom in Brandon there are potentially  hundreds of photographs of Ushaw Moor, from the 50s, taken by my uncle Norman. If that is the case, and it may well be so, I will make an effort to get anything appropriate onto the site - even if it takes years rather than months to achieve it. 

WB

Phantom Leaks - Missing Graves - And Do Not Talk About The War

Here are the last of my holiday reflections, in no particular order:

I was amazed upon receiving my ticket for the Durham v Derbyshire 20/20 cricket match to find that Durham were playing what they called the 'Derbyshire Falcons'. Everyone knows that the away side were the Derbyshire Phantoms [much more threatening and mysterious]. No - everyone got it right but me: seemingly I was the only one not to be aware that Derbyshire had changed their name yet again. Falcons? Where did they get that name from? This episode is so embarrassing; I even told a women on a big red bus that 'Durham have got it wrong you know'. I even said to the man that inspected my ticket ''Derbyshire will not like this''. He asked for an explanation, which I gave, and  he looked puzzled. It got worse - they even put up Durham v Derbyshire Falcons on the big screen at the ground - do they never learn?  No it was me, bigoted know all me, behind the times yet again.

I was in Ushaw Moor Cemetery, with a family friend, looking for John Thomas Hope [number 2 in the all-time Magnificant 7 list of great Ushaw Moorites] and duly found him. But we could not find my grandparents; this failure has happened twice now - where on earth are they buried? Talk about weird happenings down at the cemetery.Upturned coffin, graves that move, eight empty plastic milk bottles strewn around the area just inside the cemetery entrance etc. Most disheartening. Then a strange thing happened, but it is nothing to get frightened about, just a case of wild co-incidence. We got talking to two women that were also doing some family history work and in passing I discovered that a relative of one of them lives about one hundred yards from me in Surrey! And they are linked to me by way of the Hodgsons - if you remember Arthur Hodgson married my aunty Ethel! Blow me away I thought.

I enjoyed a 'proper' cup of coffee at the little cafe, on the left hand side of the cathedral green, but I was too early for one of their delicious scones; they were still at the dough stage. Anyway, I then went to the loo nearby for a wee and found a water leak [not mine]. It was leaking at the rate of one drop per three seconds. You might say that is nothing to worry about but I say that cathedral has been there for a very long time; if that leak continues for the next thousand years, at one drop per three seconds, that is a lot of water. Have a look for yourself when  you next visit. If necessary report it, if you have any remaining time after spending so much of it estimating the total water loss after a thousand years. 

On the way back home I was on the escalator going up to Kings Cross railway station when a man, he was strongly built and must have been 6 feet 2 inches in height, passed me on my left on a parallel escalator that was going in the same direction. He was noisy and seemingly troubled - speaking a very loud [to no one in particular]  mixture of nonsensical English and what seemed like aggressive German. A women in front of me was looking over at him with an amused look on her face and at the time I did not think that was appropriate;  afterall I could see that they were going to meet at the top  and then what? It is an incident that has stuck in my memory.

WB

Bearpark Welfare Unlucky In This 1950 Game

Bearpark were unlucky not to win their FA Amateur Cup fixture at Hartlepool RA. The efforts of Hartlepool RA to play class football baulked against a quick tackling Bearpark defence. Wilson, the Bearpark centre half, and Robson were especially good. In one incident Wilson kicked the ball off the goal line with Minnis out of his goal. Bearpark began to press and were rewarded with a goal from Carr after 25 minutes. Carr missed a penalty for Bearpark in the second half and Harlepool RA's inside left equalised with only ten minutes to go. Final Score 1-1.

The replay took take place on 30/09/50 and Bearpark's team for that match was:

 Minnis, Blakeburn, Nelson, Graham, Wilson, Robson, Patterson, Carr, Hurst, Ainsley, Brown. Reserve Cummings.

WB

Junior Football 1950 - Hamsteels 7 New Brancepeth 7

That must have been some game! After the game the league positions were as follows: Top Waterhouses  [five wins one draw], Quarrington Hill [three wins one draw one defeat], New Brancepeth YC [three wins one draw one defeat] Sherburn Village [three wins two defeats], Hamsteels BC one win one draw three defeats], Ushaw Moor one win three defeats], Bowburn BC [one win four defeats] and bottom were Broompark - but with games in hand - [three straight defeats].

I guess that YC is short for Youth Club, BC is short for Boys' Club, and SSC is short for Sports and Social Club.

WB

Ushaw Moor Football Team - September 1950

There were some mixed fortunes in this month. The Moor put in a good performance against Crook in a midweek fixture that attracted a gate of 1,700. In the first half, despite a stiff breeze and the sun, they had the better of the exchanges and at half-time they found themselves leading 2-1. It was McAdam of Ushaw Moor that had scored the first goal of the game and although Wake equalised for Crook,  Nicholson replied for the Moor only a couple of minutes later with a goal from a penalty. Wood scored another for the Moor after 60 minutes to make in 3-1. Crook, who afterall were a Northern League team,  turned up the heat in an exciting period of the game but could only add one further goal [from Weston]. Final score Ushaw Moor 3 Crook 2. Tommy Sharpe was described as outstanding at full back for Ushaw Moor and keeper Smith made some outstanding saves in the Moor goal. Waterson and Hailes played well in the Moor middle line but the Moor forward Finlay was their only forward of note on the day.

Ushaw Moor were described as inept in their league game against Trimdon Grange and deservedly suffered their first home defeat to a better organised team. The non appearance of the referee delayed the match by 20 minutes and in the end Tom Freeman [ex Middlesborough and Durham City full back] took over the whistle. Half-time Ushaw Moor 0 Trimdon Grange 1. Full-time   Ushaw Moor 2 Trimdon Grange 3. It was Wood and Wilson that netted for Ushaw Moor. Coulston made his debut in goal for the Moor and pulled of some fine saves. Hailes did ok at right half. This defeat was only the Moor's second in ten games - not so bad!

Ushaw Moor's team selection for the next game - against North Eastern League team Blackhall was as follows:

Smith, Lockey, Sharp, Hailes, Waterson, Richardson, Gleghorn, Wood, Finley [or Nicholson if Finlay fails a fitness test], James, McAdam. New Brancepeth Colliery Band would be playing during the interval.

Broompark's team to play Belmont on the same day was selected as follows:

J Ronson, J Hanson, J Gilbert, R Richardson, J Easter, N Kelly, D Kemp, G Pearson, F Shevels, S Kelly, J Tolley, Reserves - R Lee and A Ross.

WB

The Holiday - part 3 of 3

Here is a bit more derived from the microfiche:

The weather for the Durham Miner's Gala of 1950 was a bit dodgy. There was some fairly heavy rain before mid-day and it made some people a bit anxious for the event. Some of them went home and gave it up. Later the rain held off only for it to return at about 8.30 pm. Lots of pretty dresses and new suits got soaked but many people refused to be down hearted about the conditions and enjoyed themselves anyway!

Ushaw Moor Cricket Club got its first league win of the 1950 season by beating Craghead. At the time the Moor were second off bottom and Craghead were below them so it was not much to bugle about... In fact Ushaw Moor's league record as a result of that win was Won 1 Drawn 5 Lost 12.

1950 was the year of Lancelot Hill's funeral. He had reached 54 years of age. In his time he had played cricket for both New Brancepeth and Esh Winning, as well as briefly holding the job of secretary of Ushaw Moor Working Men's Club.

That is that for microfiche and now I want to move on to my matchday experience of Ushaw Moor v Langley Park held, not in 1950, but on 17/7/2010! The weather was not bad. It was sunny although darkish clouds threatened to move  from a position above what would have been New Brancepeth Pit and plonk themselves directly over Ushaw Moor's cricket pitch. In the event the weather was all talk and never moved at all.

Speaking of movement I saw no evidence of Langley Park's opening bowlers achieving movement. They were straight up and down. David Jones, the young lad bowling from the Station Road end, was in my view medium fast; that would have been ok but unfortunately he failed to get any swing and too often failed to force the openers  to play the ball early on. There were one too many full tosses from him. I had sympathy for this young bowler and told him so said  when, at the end of an over, he drank water from the boundary near the the seat I occupied. My sympathy was felt because of the uneven and slightly downhill pitch he had to negotiate as he ran in to bowl. His opening bowling partner was probably deserving of the accolade fast bowler and sometimes got some lift out of the pitch; in my younger days I would have found one or two of his deliveries  a bit awkward to negotiate. To me the Ushaw Moor professional batsman looked good, whilst he was at the wicket, but this had not been his season for meaningful runs - so far -however  there is still just about enough time for him to make an impression on the committee!

At one point I retired to the bar for a pint and an opportunity to view the team photographs of yesteryear. It was a bit strange to see a picture of my lovely grandad looking so young. I could see that it was Mr Richard Wallace Hope but he was destined to put a few pounds on like all of us!   

Then it happened. I asked Adrian the barman to tell me who the man was sitting on a scooter at the bottom end of the pitch, well behind the boundary line. When he told me that it was Alfie Gillespie [thanks to Adrian for correcting  my errors relating to Alfie including my 'Harry Gillespie' typo] I could not believe my luck. I had heard so much about him from my uncle Norman Hope. Alfie was a lovely batsman - technically correct and reluctant to hit the ball in the air [although Bradman was in a different league he had the same philosophy as Alfie]. I went over to talk to him and he very kindly agreed to a chat. He is now in his 89th year and a bit deaf but his brain is still sharp. Alfie suffered a bad injury whilst fielding on the boundary [bottom end of the boundary - graveyard end]. It very nearly was graveyard for Alfie because as soon as the pints of blood were pumped into him he needed more! It was an unexpected pleasure to meet the great man and I will never forget it. As our chat was coming to an end he pointed to two gentlemen standing about forty five yards away near the boundary slightly to our right  and he named them: Raymond Ayre and Frank Procter! I enjoyed a chat with them and they showed me great consideration. Brilliant stuff. If my memory serves me right Mr Proctor informed me that it was his boundary shot that had accidentally hit Alfie all those years ago! So Alfie must have been behind the boundary and watching his colleagues bat.

I had several afternoon meals at Cafe Neenas' in Chester-Le-Street. It has a lovely atmosphere, the meals are generously portioned and the prices are reasonable. The customers  I came across were interesting worthies; no doubt they all have a story to tell and given more time I may well have heard those stories in more detail!

I popped in and saw John and Elsie Vasey on the last day of my holiday and enjoyed their company, even though it was not for as long as I would have liked. They have a history of hard work and consideration for other people and those are values not to be dismissed lightly.  

Well that was 3 of 3 but there is one more article to complete [as soon as I can] and it is a bit about Ushaw Moor Football Club of 1950 vintage.

WB

The Holiday - Part 2 of 3

Back to the microfiche - back to 1950.

Ushaw Moor Youth Club did very well that year and deservedly won the Durham Table Tennis League Cup. The team consisted of William Jackson, George March, Frank Proctor, Joseph Young, Arthur Snaith and Albert Snaith.

Vicar Welby conducted the funeral of Mrs H Sokell of Durham Road. Chief mourners included:her sisters Mrs A. T. Thompson and Miss Brynn [or perhaps Brym or similiar - my record at this point is not good - apologies] Mr and Mrs T. E. Sokell [brother and sister in law] Mr T. F. Fothergill, Mr and Mrs G. E. Bryan, Mr and Mrs Bradnick and Mrs Beasley.

A Miss Street and Mr F. Bell married at the Durham Road Methodist Church. The wedding picture shows twelve people including two young bridesmaids.

There is a big advert with the message 'Nobody had much fun when I was around - I was always full of Neuritis'. It was an advert for a brand of laxative salt.

I liked the 'pass me the Paddy and I'll show you the way to wash up' advert. It was a speciality of the CWS soap works.

Controversy!   New Brancepeth CC tied its game with Sedgefield CC - but was it the tie that never was? Was it a paper typo or a dozing scorer? Details:

New Brancepth scorecard:

W Ross 7 E Homes 9 N Gleghorn 3 W Brass 0 J Milburn 0 R Ayre 3 W Cruddace 9 J Nelson 33 L McConnell 23 R Milburn 7 J Towns not out 0 extras 11 total 106

Sedgefield were reported to be all out for 106 [W Brass 4-34 and J Towns 3-50]. I checked the report three times - there is a problem and I will leave it with you!

Continuing with 1950 Esh Winning has been named by the Ministry of Health as having the most ideal housing scheme in the North of England - the architect being Mr Fred Hedley,  a local man from Brandon. He  felt that people, especially miners, need a degree of sunshine.

As a result of success in an essay, organised by the National Union of Miners, councillor R. J. Meldrum and Mr J. Charlton are to attend the Summer School in Edinburgh.

Ushaw Moor colliery houses demolished - running north and west.

More later.

WB

Selected Memories Of Last Week's Trip To Durham [1 of 3]

I have only one hour to spare so tonight's piece is not in 'creative writing' mode and has no real or imagined resemblance to the writing of Thomas Hardy [as if].

I was sitting opposite an adolescent boy for the best part of the journey up from Kings Cross to Durham and witnessed his almost perpetual eating routine. To get to his food store he had to put his hands beneath the table and extract his food from a bag; in doing so he frequently brushed against my shins. I can tell you now that there was nothing remotely erotic about it and his movements were no doubt accidental. Thank goodness.

Eventually the  majestic sight of Durham Cathedral came into view and soon afterwards my cousin scooped me away to Chester-Le -Street for what turned out to be a very interesting break. She announced that something very unusual was due to happen in Chester-Le - Street that very night; in passing it's a lovely name for a town but bad news for a non touch typist short of time. Anyway  I was to see a cultural event performed by a German company and entitled 'Firebirds'.  I attended the event with members of my family, together with some of their friends. The friends included an elegant lady called  Lorraine and a heartwarming friend called Maureen. I must not forget Maureen's brother - an Arsenal supporter of long standing. We were in position by 8.40pm on the pavement about a hundred yards opposite the Methodist Church and  therefore well in time for the event - which was due to start  at 9 pm. The Methodist church clock showed twenty to five and was still showing that time when I left the town during mid- morning several days later. 

It began to rain but we did not care: our spirits were high and we were full of anticipation. It is true that  the event began an hour late, during rain, and and  my lovely companions declined to go in the pub immediately behind us on the grounds that they had a temperance spirit. Well I am not a frequent drinker but must admit to a  heartfelt tinge of disappoinment [if such a thing is technically possible] at the news that drinking alcohol was bad form. The tinge quickly dispersed and we were all as one again like children waiting for a German Santa and his accompanying elves. 

The production duly arrived and boy was it colourful and exciting. The only downside is that although I would be willing to bet that  our group were above average mentally [even though I no doubt dragged the average down a bit] none of them fully understood the exciting and colourful spectacle occuring before our very eyes. Only later did I understand that it is based on the idea of a competition amongst six daredevil pilots and their flying machines. There were several dramatic fire effects and explosions and I would not have missed this colourful and dramatic event for all the world.   

The following evening I went to the headquarters of Durham's Cricket to see the home team take on Derbyshire Falcons in a limited over game under 20/20 rules. In the event the game was abandoned after thirteen overs, owing to heavy rain, but not before I saw the Derbyshire team for the very first time. I have followed its scorecards since 1954. Les Jackson and Cliff Gladwin are of course long gone  but elements of the child are still within me and therefore it was exciting just to watch Derbyshire practice! The Derby wicket keeper seemed a bit special to me and took one or two very awkward deliveries very well indeed. Mustard batted  well for Durham. The Durham County bar was not a very exciting place to be that night; little groups of men - on average four per group - stood around talking about goodness knows what. I was almost the only person sitting down so I had no  interesting conversation with anybody; it seemed very dull and very 'County' to me. Probably an overreaction.

The next day I paid a  short visit to Durham library to take advantage of its microfiche newspaper record. It is a treasure of information about Ushaw Moor and the surrounding area and the Durham County Advertiser is expecially good. Which year to select? I went for 1950. Do I hear groans of disappointment? Let me give you a couple of scorecards:

By the middle of July 1950 Ushaw Moor CC was still waiting for a victory in the North Western Durham League. It had Whickham on 48 for 9 so a win seemed a formality....

But big hitting from tailenders gave the opposition a slightly more respectable final score of 81. But surely.....

Ushaw Moor's reply:

D Dunn 0

G Smith 6

T Liddle 16

R Telfor 10

N Gill 6

H Gillespie 0

J Wyatt 19

G Marsh 4

B Hull 6

R W Hope 0

W Anderson not out 1

Extras 4

Total - I will let you add that up!

Meanwhile New Brancepeth were in good nick against Tudhoe.

New Brancepeth scores:

W Ross 28

E Holmes 20

A Patterson 5

W Brass 66

N Gleghorn 19

J Milburn 0

R Ayre 1

W Cruddace 0

J Nelson 2

L McConnell 3

J Young not out 1

Extras 9

Total 154

In reply Tudhoe were all out for 113 - Brass taking 5 wickets for 11 runs and J Milburn 3 wickets for twenty three runs.

New Brancepeth won by 41 runs.

Part two coming up when I grab the time.

WB

Norman 'Soccer' Gleghorn - The Interview

Norman greeted me cheerfully on my arrival at his neat and tidy flat. The twinkle in his blue eyes and his love of life remain undiminished despite his considerable years; it showed in his readiness to chat away about himself and life in general. He is not a self absorbed man rather he takes a keen interest in news and sport [by way of his radio and television] but not necessarily in that order!

Norman was born to George and Francis Gleghorn in Eshwood Street, New Brancepeth in 1926. He was one of ten children, but as he pointed out, such a large family was not so unusual at that time.

Norman attended New Brancepeth School and although he recalls that gardening was a prominent part of the school's curriculum he was not interested in Mr Turnbull's gardening lessons, or for that matter George Hill's woodwork; his love was sport and more sport. He represented the school at football and cricket and enjoyed the experience so much.

Having left school at 14 he then spent the next 10 years working at New Brancepeth Coke Ovens as a mechanical fitter. It operated a three shift system; 6am to 2 pm - 2pm to 10pm and 10pm to 6am. During his time there the cokeworks never closed, not even on Christmas Day or New Year's Day, and Norman finds that fact remarkable to this day.

During our meeting Norman's daughter Ingrid, and his grand-daughter Sarah, popped in and out. It was obvious that they  love and care for Norman in a very positive way.

Norman went on to say that the poor working conditions at the cokeworks persuaded him to find a healthier occupation and it arrived in the form of window cleaning. Norman is good with people and that, together with his need to keep fit for sport, made window cleaning such an attractive proposition. He spent many a year cleaning windows  and he became a familiar sight on his rounds.

I felt it was time to challenge Norman: did he clean upstairs windows? I asked because a well respected contributor to the site had suggested that Norman had no head for heights. Norman looked at me and declared that he did ups as well as downs! I duly accepted his solemn declaration with a chuckle from me and a smile from him.

We moved on to football. Norman informed me that he had been given a trial by Derby County in 1947, as had Ronnie Peart from Bearpark. Derby booked them into the local Railway hotel on a bed and breakfast basis. The trial itself was played behind closed doors to prevent the possibility of spies from rival clubs having a look at promising players and possibly nicking them. Before the game the trialists were introduced to Horatio 'Raich' Carter and Peter Doherty, both of whom were two of the finest inside forwards to play in English football. I listened to this, having being a Derby follower since 1954, and felt envious to say the least! At one point during the day of the trial some Derby fans asked Soccer for his autograph and he still enjoys that memory!

As for the trial itself sadly it did not go well enough.  The full back was good and Norman was young and nervous: those factors caused Derby to reject him. How dare they!

At 10.39am, some fifteen minutes into our discussion, Norman offered me a whisky. I declined with  thanks but now regret the lost opportunity. He then pointed to a picture of himself taken with the England Test cricketer Paul Collingwood. He was rightly proud, as well he should be, because Collingwood is a test cricketer that fights hard for the English cause. He then showed me a photograph of himself taken with Cheryl Crowe. Have I got the name right? I get the Crowe's and Coles mixed up. Soccer described her as being a  beautiful lady. He gets around....

On with his football career. He played for several teams and Ushaw Moor, Spennymoor United, Consett and York City Reserves spring to my mind.

'The ball was hard in those days and the lace could hurt. The modern ball is like a swerving balloon'. It is hard to disagree with Norman. He reminisced about some local players: it was Billy Findlay [Finlay?} at inside right that had opened the scoring with a header in the 3-1 defeat suffered at the hands of the great Bishop Auckland team. Soccer felt that Ushaw Moor had played well but towards the end Bishop Auckland were playing effective keep ball.   Tommy Sharp was a very good full back and worked as a draughtsman at Mackays factory - at one point he ran a  pub in Durham. Soccer said that  Tommy could head a ball further than he could kick it. Tot Smith was an ex Blackpool player and played well in  local football [at one time he had a pub in Crook]. Alan Lockey was not a world beater but always put on a good show. George Jameson, at centre forward, lacked height but was pacey and effective. Norman recalled fellow winger Harry Richmond and I asked him an 'innocent' question: 'was he as good as you Soccer?' You can imagine the answer. Actually he laughed and was surprisingly polite, given the question!

Norman married Peggy Harper and then Nancy Whitfield. Although a  widower, with fond memories, he has been able to carry on in a positive vein - an example to us all.

Norman is number seven in the all time magnificent seven of Ushaw Moor [earlier article see archive] and deservedly so. I felt privileged to interview him and will never forget the experience.

WB

Paul Has Made A Timely Comment

It is true that my previous post is off subject - not about memories of the village - and I must admit that I winced at and wondered about its likely reception when editing it. My mind was full of mild turmoil; do we let the memories side of it lapse into occasional but relevant articles or do we throw current affairs in amongst memories of the village with a view to creating more regular articles and hopefully maintain interest?  Do we rely on Facebook as the mainstay?

Paul has the absolute right to govern and edit his facility and as a matter of fact I can fully understand his point of view.  I intimated recently that my writing was coming to an end in July so that fixes the problem in any case.It had to come to an end because  I have virtually exhausted my contributions to the village history at a time when several other things of a permanent nature are pressing. 

It has been a privilege to write on this site and I thank Paul for giving me the opportunity. I do hope that our tour around the village, the upturned coffin incident, the debate about the 'magnificent seven', vicar's Welby's family history etc etc has been of interest.

There is one last point to make: if one or two of you can make 17/7 [1pm] at Ushaw Moor cricket club for a pint so well and good. If that is inconvenient never mind!

WB

Will the PCS Uncover Its Arsenal And Rescue The North East?

So the long standing  Tory instincts to cut and burn have not gone away. This time they have served notice that public services are to be slashed  at a rate that will hurt the young, the old and the bewildered to an unprecedented degree. And they seem to be expressing their intention with undisguised glee. As for their bedfellows text books and history books will eventually make a judgement about them; for now they seem to be tossing away their unexpected time in the limelight and confirming their unfitness for power.

The North East relies heavily on public service employment opportunities and most of those jobs are appropriate in a modern economy. Slashing them does not make sense and in any case the given reasons  for doing so are not convincing. There is a need to cut, because we have a massive deficit, but the amount and timing is deeply unwise. We are not Greece and we are not Iceland and consequently the level and timing of cuts should be more gentle, for the sake of the economy and therefore the people. In passing I cannot resist that old joke: what is the capital of Iceland? Answer three pounds and fifty pence, or some such trivial sum, but I digress.

The government will be aware that civil servants have struck before, albeit not for long and with little intensity; but is there a danger that they will miscalulate the sense of betrayal that might eventually unleash the weapon available to the Public And Commercial Services Union? A  selective use of civil service computer systems could bring this government down in months and although the government will know that they may well make the mistake of thinking that civil servants are sleeping bureaucrats, rather than what almost all of them are - hardworking employees involved in virtually every area of society; they help to maintain the very fabric of decency within this modern economy. The government seems to be be more gentle with avoidance schemes than school toilets; that of course is just shorthand for their seemingly undisguised glee at exercising their cobbled power to impose their political dogma.  

WB

It was Downhill After The Bacon And Eggs

If you read my previous piece of creative writing you will know that  bacon and eggs were enjoyed on the colliery locomotive; this is the next instalment and I hope you find it interesting.

Although that railway line was a source of joy there were other types of line that gave me seemingly endless disappointment, humiliation and bafflement. My catalogue of misery started with the fifty yards primary school sprint on a sun filled sports day, one summer in the early 50s; I competed like the slim young child that I was and showed some promise. I quickly established a lead, maintained it and got to the line with much distance to spare. Sadly it was not the finishing line the organisers had in mind; by the time I realised my shortfall some young boy won the acclamation, and observed the parental joy, both of which had eluded me on nothing more than a technicality.    Mum said, ‘Never mind’, but dad remained silent.

My line problems continued - one of which involved a trial for the Durham and District schools under 16s football team; the event could never have been described as a formality leading to my inevitable selection, but clearly the accolade ‘achieved further representative honours’ was worth striving for, if only to savour and enjoy it into adulthood as a counterbalancing consolation for likely academic failure. In the event I was undone by the weather, just as Napoleon had been at the battle of Waterloo, but it was snow rather than rain that caused my downfall. The white stuff had obliterated the touch line markings, rendered the pitch illegal and produced uncertainty, disorientation and dismay to my play in quantities never previously apparent. I wasn’t selected, ‘Never mind’ said dad. He looked disappointed so I never even told mother. Although a line had undone me yet again little did I know that lines of Clapham Junction proportions were about to hit me in the form of Mr Hill.

Mr Hill was approaching old age when I came across him for the first time. He frequently dressed in sturdy tweeds accompanied by a plain white shirt and dull uninspiring tie. I imagine that his teaching style was that of a 1930s disciplinarian but he was operating in the 50s when I found myself part of his captive audience. I did not understand his subject – technical drawing and it was a complete mystery to me, although many of my fellow pupils seemed to grasp it to certificate standards. Terms such as isometric, geometry, oblique and angle meant nothing to me. All those lines going here, there, and everywhere - for reasons that were usually unclear to me - froze my brain. The risk of retribution from Mr Hill was tangible and terrifying; in the event he never chastised me, very probably out of pity. Eventually I owned up to the obvious:  ‘I do not understand technical drawing sir, so can I do history instead?’  Mr Hill did not reply and nor did he take any action. I was too young to assert myself and my parents were oblivious to the problem.

Death and danger were never far away in our mining village but my recollections of it were not associated with gassed, bashed, mangled nor maimed bread winners; it was the death and sometimes near death experiences of children and women that touched me. We shared a two up and two down house: a family that I barely recall were two up and we were two down. A potential tragedy began to unfold when an infant child, of the uppies, was rushed to hospital by ambulance. The following morning Mum and dad talked about a burst appendix and death, and the child was never seen again – neither on the stairs nor in the village. The rushing and fussing had been too late and my childish mind connected the death with the lack of a telephone, the like of which was seldom seen, save in a colliery manager’s house, the grocery store or the doctor’s home. The incident appeared random, puzzling and alarming to me and chipped away at my already frail sense of security.

The above experience was soon replaced by another and it felt all the more intense because it was my brother who took centre stage. The innocent looking opponent was a stubborn, sugar loaded, toffee and I had a grand seat as the event unfolded in our garden. The confection gradually turned my brother blue by lodging itself in his throat. Our alarmed mother, after an ineffective and strangely calm intervention, crucially decided to jump the garden fence and seek help from our unemployed neighbour, Mr Pinkney. He was prompt and equally calm and decisive; he began with a gentle approach to de-lodging, just as my mother had done, but it soon turned to an untutored downward thrust of his finger that brought blood and toffee to the surface. It had been a near death experience but Mr Pinkney’s successful intervention moved our mother to tears of joy and gratitude.     

Great aunt Ada was the next person I saw to be in crisis; she appeared unannounced at grandmother’s door and looked tall, thin and gloomy. Her dark full length coat, fastened with three very large buttons, did little for her and neither did her clumpy flat black shoes. Her furry hat had very wisely been pulled down over her ears to counteract a chilly autumn wind, but she did not appear wise to me; she appeared sallow, haggard and with lifeless eyes more suited to a fish slab. My young mind knew that she was in grave distress. Grandmother appeared delighted to see her sister, and after some time honoured preliminaries, they both settled down to a hushed conversation accompanied by sweet tea and buttered scones. I picked out the phrase ‘we are here for you’ and I knew, with childlike certainty, that some sort of disaster had struck.

[Wilf  Bell asserts his moral rights to be identified as the author of this work]

Wearside League 6 Uruguay 0

Seeing the nature of Ghana's World Cup exit has finally destroyed my interest in professional football. A Uruguay player handled the ball on the goal line in the last minute of extra time - Ghana then almost inevitably missed the penalty and also the shoot out. What  happened is that Uruguay's cheating was rewarded with a win. That would not be so bad if they had at least shown a little concern for those players of Ghana in distress; all I hoped for was a kind word and the offer of a handshake but I did not see it. If they did eventually get around to consoling their brave opponents it was too little and too late. The football commentators did not get it early either;. no mention from them of the reward for cheating but plenty else.

Football at professional level needs sorting out. The Premier League's greed for money needs correcting. The manager of our national football team needs to take further English lessons and that self styled leader from Stamford Bridge [no not Lampard] needs to realise that he is not the manager; he should let his feet and head do the business - but not upon me please! 

As for the Wearside League its  attractions are several: its not too far for supporters to travel; there is the pride to be got from supporting your own community,the level of reward for players is not obscene and I could go on - but I think you get the idea.

Let's cut out pushing and shoving in the penalty area and penalise from the spot if the cut is not made. Put Blatter in the stocks and give three quid to the Red Cross instead of spending it on a glossy Premier League football programme.

The history of the Wearside League can easily be read on site: just google Wearside league football history or similiar and up it pops.  All we need now is a team and a  manager to inspire. Over to Soccer Gleghorn. Get your telephone book out Norman and network away.

WB

Back InThe Mid Sixties

I lived two doors from Keith Burkinshaw. Do the football fans on this site remember him? He managed several teams including Spurs and Newcastle United. One match day he saw me walking down the road  on the way to see Workington FC and offered me a lift which I gratefully accepted. He was Workington's left half at the time and being the  pleasant man that he was he even offered me a free ticket to the game. I declined the ticket on the basis that Workington were pretty broke at that time [average match attendance c 2,400]. He must have smiled inwardly at the seventeen year old's concern about the club's finances! I suggested to him that Workington should sign George Darwin the inside forward that had played for several teams, including Derby County and Barrow, but nothing became of it. In any case Workington already had a good schemer, that is  Jimmy Moran, but I was concerned about the team if Jimmy became injured. A few years later I found out that George Darwin had relatives in Sacriston or was it Witton Gilbert? 

It was during the mid sixties that Workington gave Chelsea the absolute runaround in the League Cup but without actually beating them. It ended 2-2. I recall Peter Osgood was making his debut that night and that Keith made a faulty back pass that enabled Chelsea to take the lead. 

WB

Bob Marley

You can never anticipate where your surfing will take you and true to form I have ended up with Bob. The key within a key was Facebook and a contibutor to the book's Ushaw Moor site. I like Bob Marley's music but [if the given quote is correct] like a lot of fine professionals  his lyrics do not always stand up to scrutiny. I refer to the notion that you can waste a lot of time dwelling on things instead of moving on. Yes you have to move on: there is no point in being a glutton for nostalgia at the expense of both the present and the future; the thing is  some problems do have to be worked out and learnt from otherwise how can we grow up? Life long learning is not just a catchy phrase!

The notion that everyone will disappoint you is absolutely wrong. There are some wholesome people in the world and it is just a question of finding them. It is true that life can be perceived to suck; rip off merchants are there to be seen but the seeing is often too late. Charlatans abound - as do some powerful and assertive people that sometimes trample all over your dreams - but please hold onto the notion that the world is not entirely short of heroes.

By the way I have trouble spelling the female version of hero because it makes such a person sound like a dangerous drug!  

WB

Chewing Gum In Inappropriate Places

Did you chew gum as a youngster? Perhaps you did and still do. Was Station Road a mess because of  spat out chewing gum from your jaw sagging mouth?  Which brand did you like? Were you a bubble gummer and if so how big were your bubbles?

I await the answers to the above survey with interest but there is a bigger question: what do you think of of those members of Parliament that can be seen chewing away like depressed cows during televised Parliamentary business? There are only a few of them but one is too many.

During my career I attended many meetings with members of the public but not once did I chew gum, or anything else,  during them. It simply was not good form to do such an unprofessional thing. Lately I have spotted a few MP's chewing away at a speed that suggests chewing gum is the item being chewed. The reputation of Parliament remains in tatters owing to many inappropriate claims to expenses by some members; you would  think that chewing members would seek to convince the electorate of their professionalism not encourage more distain. It surely cannot be a sponsorship arrangement because, apart from anything else, the gum manufacturer cannot be identified;  there again one company has the lion's share [rather than the cow's share] of the market so maybe there is some lucrative auto suggestion going on. Tongue in cheek there; just a bit.

I come to the question of chewing gum disposal; please monitor the methods being adopted by  parliamentarians and report back if you will. I am particularly curious about whether any of them are in the habit of sticking used gum in inappropriate places.

WB

More Creative Writing

Here are a few fond and genuine memories expressed in a way that has been much influenced by my attendance at the local university writing course. I hope you enjoy them:

Walking was the default mode of transport in the coal mining villages of the 1950s. But the experience wasn’t all dirt and grime. It could, and often did, produce memories inspired by nature with a cast of thousands:  Bluebells carpeted the wood, smiley sunflowers decorated Mr Dean’s garden, Mr Hope’s carnations popped up at village weddings, and dog roses appeared everywhere, other than at weddings. Two of nature’s spectacular specialists, thunder and lightning, occasionally lit up the stage, with support from unforgiving rain that lashed in their wake.

But Nature’s theatricals came at a cost. Parental condemnation, brought about by ill prepared rain sodden explorations, expressed itself sharply in a motherly fashion, ‘You stupid boy, why did you not take a raincoat?’ Her question was unanswerable but it was followed, like night that follows day, with an act of love made tangible by clean warm clothing - and Spotted Dick, if my luck was really in.

String, steam, and skewer were the enablers that etched themselves into my memory bank. The string secured the greaseproof paper that overlapped the basin’s sides and the steam process contributed to producing a pudding far superior to that other fraudulent alternative, the baked version. The skewer, having being inserted into the pudding at the allotted finishing time, to test for readiness, confirmed it by coming out clean and uncluttered. Much later the ever remembered cooking process would eagerly bring forward powerful and nostalgic yearnings for that 1950s version of the comforting, sweet and substantial Spotted Dick. Its availability was never guaranteed and a familiar substitute, equally remembered but seldom lauded, was the tired left over Yorkshire pudding; it was forever in alliance with blobs of strawberry jam and filled my non protesting young stomach with qualified contentment, if the pudding was not soggy or brittle.

One particular Sunday produced a well of excitement and expectation within me; it was signalled by a smiling father’s directive, ‘’Meet me by the buffers at two o’clock’’. He had a tremendously special job at the colliery and had promised to share it with me. I anticipated being the envy of a league of junior school personnel: the pupils, the teachers, the canteen ladies and even our caretaker, a man not easily impressed by much, if my little chit chats with him were a reliable guide.

 Shortly before the appointed hour a proud and noisy show off announced itself with some rhythmic chuff chuffs;   it became bigger and noisier by the second and its plan was to meet me. A different mode of transport, flight, was under my active consideration, but I stood my ground against a giant that seemed both friendly and intimidating. My guardian, the driver, my father no less, smiled a knowing smile as he scooped me up from the footplate into his cabin; the inner sanctum was full of puzzles, noises, threats, fiery glow and uncertainties – but he was a confident, well seasoned operative, and I knew it.

Father tugged the whistle cord, despite it being Sunday, and opened the regulator to control the passage of steam from boiler to cylinder. With the safety valve shut down – signified by a clicking noise, we began to move away from the buffers towards the colliery, known as the pit. I began to relax and remember that I had not eaten since breakfast, but that disconcerting thought was brushed aside by means of parental planning, provisions and a big shovel. It became clear to me that the fiery locomotive furnace, immediately in front us, was to be the cooking method; the ingredients would be bacon and eggs – they had suddenly appeared from under dad’s cap – and the shiny shovel would do the rest. First to submit were the uncooked eggs closely followed by the bacon. The treat was all the more delicious because of the entertaining and novel means of production which father had orchestrated with panache.

[Wilf Bell asserts his moral rights to be identified as the author of this work]

Inspiration Delivered Daily

What do you like most about your job? (Or studies, etc.)

via Plinky.

My Favorite Summer Memory

I guess my fave summer memory, has to be my holidays in Newquay in Cornwall as a young boy. We drove down form Ushaw Moor down to Cornwall over a couple of days, stopping overnight at Tewkesbury. I guess that was my first memory of Surfing, at least surfing of a sort, on a poly short surf board, but it was great fun.


Stayed in a touring caravan with my sister Mum and Dad. I was lucky to get away so often as I did, spending most weekends away in the caravan.


Happy Days

Disconnected Thoughts

I like to think I am a free thinker but that thought is very suspect

Some of the people on Ushaw Moor Facebook are really interesting

Why is it that often the driver that fails to signal left or right is found to have a defective brake light?

How can students spend three years at university and come out feeling religious?

Harriet Harman has done well in recent question time confrontations with Cameron 

Will it be raining in Ushaw Moor on 17/7?

England's defence was a shambles but Germany's is not that good either

Will we ever find new blood authors for this site?

The world would be a better place if more people took up Nordic walking and read Johann Hari

We do not need oil to run cars 

Why go to restaurants when you can have fun cooking for loved ones at home? Less dicky stomachs are a bonus as well

WB

A Few Residents Of Albert Street

In the very early part of the 20th century John Brady and his wife Mary were living at 1 Albert Street Ushaw Moor together with their daughter Mary; John Hagan was their lodger for a time. Billy and Emily Nicholson lived nearby with their children Mary and John.

John Brunskill and his wife Emily were not far away in Albert Street; their children were Candais, Hannah and Jane; Tommy Price lodged with them.

There were quite a lot of lodgers in the village and perhaps that reflected a shortage of housing as well as itineracy. Lodgers contributions no doubt enabled some tenants to survive economically.

Do you recognise any of those names?

WB

A Bicycle, Pen And Thomas Hardy

My parents gave me a lovely new bike at Christmas in 1957 and it gave me freedom, variety and occasional calamity. I recall the freedom to go to 'that bridge' and look down upon the Flying Scotsman. Paul Clough will be more familiar with that bridge and certainly will know how to spell its name -  Relley Bridge perhaps - and confirm whether or not I am relating a false memory about the Flying Scotsman flashing underneath it.

I recall a minor accident on the road outside Neil Davies' home in Bracken Court during 1958. It might have been me that failed to negotiate a parked vehicle. Or was in Neil? Or was it Allan Burn? Which leads me on to some creative writing.

I have just recently completed a  creative writing course at the local University and I enjoyed it a great deal. One of our tasks was to write a short piece about an inanimate object and I choose a pen. Hopefully the result is coming up shortly [cut and paste on the new package is still a minor mystery]. Before coming to that piece of work can I say that I recall ink pens at New Brancepeth school in 1952. Being left handed it was never easy for me to prevent the black blob and smudge. Can any other reader identify with that problem? Now then, the exciting bit. Can I cut and paste on this new package?

The Pen

Here I am, a wooden pen with a bright brain, lying in my glass prison. There’s a computer set back to my left and a pencil to my right. Let’s face it – they look as bored as I feel in this badly decorated box room.

Here comes the master. I could write so much that is meaningful but he never listens to me. He trots out the same old lists: five pounds of potatoes, cheesecake, tea....

 When he suffers writers’ block he chews and squeezes me. His son is just as guilty. One day one, or both of them, might damage my brain. One of my neighbours, the pencil, has a rubber top so never gets chewed; mind you he does get squeezed – I have seen it happen so often.

When I am taken out I frequently cannot see a thing – when stuck in a top pocket or thrown to the bottom of his brown bag –has he not got one in another colour?

Oh look! He’s compiling one of his ‘to do lists’. Much of it never gets done; it’s more like a ‘not to do list’ if you ask me. He has just written ‘vacuum the box room’ but I hope that he puts that off because that vacuum cleaner is far too noisy.

Life is not all bad. I enjoy the internet even if my master’s choice is limited and predictable: Richard Dawkins, Derby County, Robbie Williams, A C Grayling and Johann Hari. On he goes to the newspapers: The Independent, The Guardian, Times and Telegraph – always in that order. I hope he goes back to that article about James Dyson – the man with a more efficient vacuum cleaner.

My master sometimes uses my ink to doodle and deliberate upon the internet’s complexities but more often he can be found to be forcibly tapping my stomach against his bony thumb in a most inhuman and painful way. I can do little to rectify his behaviour but I welcome any suggestions from whatever source.

I like writing thank you letters; in doing so I imagine I am giving lots of pleasure. His spelling is not too bad but he’s a bit mechanical - on the other hand his wife can’t spell but has the sensitivity he lacks.

In my quieter moments I wonder what the purpose of my life is. Is it just to write? What will happen when my ink runs out? Is there a place where pens go for a nice time when they are inkless? Am I refillable?

Oh! Out of his pocket has come a sleek and slender silvery pen. I am not familiar with her – I wonder whether she is going to try and replace me or join me.    

Thanks for reading that. Now for Thomas Hardy. Back at college decades ago I was lambasted by the lecturer for daring to criticise  that highly regarded writer Thomas Hardy.At the time my immature but decisive brain signalled yawns when it was time to do Hardy. Imagine my surprise when a few weeks ago a young, clear eyed, pleasant looking young graduate declared that my writing reminded her of Thomas Hardy! It related to a longer piece of mine and although it was flattering and wrong to link me with a greatly accomplished writer it has nevertheless given me some confidence to persevere; I will try to ' hack through the wood' and go onto better things. I have twigged that creative writing will improve my observational skills and in the long run enrich my vocabulary.

WB

England 4 Brazil 2

Does that football scoreline appeal to you? Believe it or not that is a real scoreline albeit from 1956. It is a strange scoreline and the players' wages were even stranger, being more  akin to those of supporters that went to the game to support England. The players had some colour about them: Reg Matthews was a brilliant and brave goalkeeper and Johnny Haynes was a master of the accurate and perceptive pass. Duncan Edwards was a youngster of towering proportions and played like a young giant; he was a member of that brilliant Manchester United team of 1957 and I had the privilage of seeing him, Roger Byrne and Tommy Taylor as part of a United team that enjoyed a 2-1 win at Newcastle United just prior to their deaths in the Munich disaster.    

When England's matches were on the television, usually on a Wednesday, I used to dash home from the school in Temperance Terrace to watch them and I was seldom disappointed with the result. The players played with pride and understood the fans in a way that is not always possible these days.

The players of that generation were not separated from the public by an enormous disparity in wages and as far as I know never appeared in magazines such as Hello. Neither did they live in mansions. To be honest I welcome a huge rise in the wages of professional players; what I do not like are the rates that amount to a pigs' trough and make a mockery of the relationship between fans and clubs. I have said it before: I would not pay thirty pounds to see Derby County play Man U or Newcastle play Sunderland even if the game was only five minutes away from my door. I will go further and say that if Slovenia beat England I will  not care a great deal.   The English game is sick and is propped up by wonderfully skilful foreign players  at a cost to up and coming English players. So that being the state of affairs do not expect me to get excited about a 1-0 win against Slovenia but do expect me to be a tad cheery in the event of defeat.   

I do try to think globally, and welcome free trade, but football needs to sort out its identity; is it 100 per cent business or perhaps 70-30 business and sport? The English game needs sorting out and perhaps an early exit will do its team good in the long run even if it leaves the leisure business crying to the bank.

 Come on Slovenia.

WB

1959 Was A Bad Year For Science

We went a whole year without science teaching at a time when grammar schools and others were pumping in facts to help open up minds and maximize  GCE results. It was a travesty and a disgrace that reached far beyond our headmaster and the County Council. I recall that we were entertained by a personable and  no doubt knowlegeable teacher called Mr Fawcett. I guess  he was filling in and he did it with much humour. I was not impressed by his goal scoring in our school team's 4-1 victory over the teachers; well yes I was impressed because he took it well - but it was salt being rubbed into our science starved eyes. 

Coming up to date - the theory of Evolution is accepted by the Pope, and many other influential people, but despite that too much of American education is siding with a world that took seven days to form. I ask you! It gets worse: if you believe  media reports the outdated emphasis on creation is also much closer to home -at first I thought it was Sunderland but now believe it's Gateshead.

I do hope the theory of evolution is put firmly in front of young minds by means of the curriculum. I do hope that the elementary facts of science fire the imagine of youngsters in such a way that they are enabled to appreciate the brilliance of Professor Brian Cox and others. I do hope that I can put 1959 to bed safe in the knowledge that youngsters are free from the taint of superstition and entranced by a better magic called science. If such a dream comes true it might  help to save the planet one day!

WB

Tories To Tread Carefully Or Suffer Electoral Disaster?

This article has little to do with Ushaw Moor memories but it is written by a lad that walked the Ushaw Moor walk in the 50s and what a walk it was. Some of the windows in Temperance Terrace looked a bit rough; window curtains were not universal and I saw many a newspaper headline up at windows on my way to school. It was a time before Tax Credits and Supplementary Benefits  as we now understand them. If you were in work the food on the table was tolerable but if you were not...

The then Tory prime minister said we had never had it so good, but be that as it may, at one point one of our neighbours could not afford a custard tart from the travelling shop and mum helped out with a penny that made all the difference. Even though my step-father was in regular work I found myself on the eve of a school cup final without football boots.

Tuesday will be a big day for the coalition; cuts there will be but where will they apply? There is a hint that the middle classes will take some pain and many of them can no doubt adjust to it. If cuts are fair to society, as a whole, then that is to the good but it still begs the question: will the timing and scale of them be wise? I do hope Mr Osborne has some wise advisers because the decisions to be made are immensely complex in that one thing can adversely affect another so easily. I see it as an opportunity for the modern updated Tories to come out and show us what they are. It was not that long ago that they were poised to financially disintegrate;  they had been seen for what they were so surely now they must chart a socially fair course; the alternative might be a public backlash the like of which have not been seen for a while. 

With regard to coming out the Prime Minister was all over the place recently regarding Gays. He blustered over his past record of voting and even asked for the interview to restart. That in itself suggests spin over leadership. Currently Tory spin is particularly good but the substance has to be revealed and we shall see what we shall see over the next year or so.  

WB

On The Buses

We all know that the main function of a bus is to get from A to B but there can be several very upsetting subplots; thanks to Paul's big red picture of a shiny United bus it is all coming back to me. For a start how is it that the National Lottery has never come up with 43 44 47? There has been plenty of 42 45, or even the comic's favourite 44 45. Could today be the big day for 43 44 47? Are you tempted and will you be grateful to me in Ushaw Moor Cricket Club on 17/7 when you roll up in a posh car? The trouble with numbers is that most of them have some significance and the big win is so elusive. Keep the faith in 43 44 47 but don't tell the church.

There can  be snobbery associated with bus transport. I know one potential father in law who rejected his daughter's suitor because he was 'only' a joiner. That snobby man was a bus inspector! I have to say that I respect bus inspectors but not if they are so snobby and delusional about their walk of life. A bus driver has far more responsibility than a bus inspector and as for a  colliery joiner - any joiner for that matter -he/she is far more skilful that a bus inspector; the latter has little more to do than know how to catch a bus and do a simple check on tickets. Tell me I am wrong. The joiner joins things, usually in a workshop and with all the pomp of a trade. I hope that Michael Gove can dismiss Victorian snobbery, will all its associated faeces, and give full recognition to skills worthy of pride.

There is something about Northern folk that often pleases the eyes and ears. Back in the 50s they often chatted away on the 47 in anticipation of a good film at the Palladium or Essoldo, with a packet of fags to [admittedly] foul the air;  brylcreamed hair often recognised  the occasion just as it did at other venues such as cricket matches.  Brylcream is associated with Denis Compton's adverts and they were big on buses in the 50s but that is another story. 

WB

Ushaw Moor's Full FA Cup Record

It spans the years 1950 to 1955, as follows:

1950/51 Brandon CW [CW stands for Colliery Welfare]] brought an away 1-0 win then a 2-2 away draw at Crook Town followed by a 3-2 home win in the replay. The run ended in a 3-1 home defeat to Blackhall CW.

1951/52 Defeat again to Blackhall CW - 2-1 away.

 1952/53 The run started with a 2-0 home win against Chilton Athletic, followed up with  a 4-1 home win against Silksworth CW. Then came grief at Horden CW in the form of a 3-1 defeat.

1953/4

A 1-1 draw at Murton CW started the ball rolling and it was followed by a handsome 4-1 win in the replay. A difficult trip to Horden CW ended the campaign - a 4-2 defeat that day.

1954/55 brought quick grief but much pride - Durham City 4 Ushaw Moor 3.

WB - with acknowledgements to the Football Club History Database.

There's No Point In Making The Call

From time to time, especially when my writing dries up, I have thought about telephoning my half-sister to cadge an Ushaw Moor memory posting from her. Although she would be friendly and caring enough she does not 'do' nostalgia nor looking back. Neither has she much interest in family history. Her view is largely that what is done is done and there is little point in looking back. I have some sympathy for her point of view and you might be surprised by that! Having said that my sympathy does not stretch to agreement. We owe it to our children to get life stories down on paper, as well as stored electronically. Furthermore some understanding of the past can enable us to negotiate the present and decide some of our options for the future. The act of writing is also good for the brain's creative side.

Then of course there is the fun! Take last week. Having spent years trying to track down some film of the 1946 Cup Final, between Derby County and Charlton Athletic, I stumbled across it in my researches. I was able to, albeit  briefly, watch Horatio [Raich] Carter in all his pomp and the Irishman Peter Doherty in all his spell binding finery.

So there we have it. I will not be making the appeal to my half-sister  in the knowledge that she is cheese and I am chalk, at any rate about doing the past.

WB