Emergency station

But there was one train crash in which a number of people, passengers and workers alike, could have been killed, and yet nobody was badly injured.

It happened in 1936 at Barnard Castle station. It was agreed all round that it was a miracle there was no loss of life.A morning train from Bishop Auckland to Middleton was due to stop at the station, but somehow the points were in the wrong position.

Instead of pulling up at its normal platform, the engine steamed into the wrong bay and rammed into the buffers.

It mounted the concrete base, skidded through a part of a garden and came to a stop on the pavement outside. Its front wheels were left dangling about 2ft above the pavement.

Large chunks of concrete flew onto the road and platform, but by sheer good fortune they did not strike anyone.

The first carriage, which included the guard’s van, was smashed to pieces. It ended at a sharp angle, with its front 5ft off the ground and its backend on the rails.

But the guard who was inside, Jim Owen, walked away with only some bruising.

Passengers were hurled around inside the other carriages and station staff ran to help them, fearing the worst.

But only six people sustained minor cuts and bruises.

They were able to continue on their way after a spot of first aid by the staff.

John Heads, of Cockfield, was said to suffer the worst injury – and that was a bloody nose.

The train driver, John Mc- Clelland, and his fireman, William Cartwright, were praised for the way they reacted in the emergency.

Workers certainly knew how to get trains moving again after accidents in those days.

Another locomotive and carriages were soon in action to complete the journey to Middleton after a delay of only about 30 minutes.

Another service, to Sunderland, was similarly delayed.

The crashed engine was left in the same position for three days, so folk travelled from all over the area to look at it.

The task of moving it was left until a Sunday — the quietest day of the week — so a big crane could be moved in to lift it without interfering with the normal timetable.

After other rail mishaps, the wreckage was always cleared and repairs carried out with remarkable speed.

THERE was delight when a village institute was completed and opened for use in February 1899.

The idea of a public meeting place in Westgate had been talked about for 25 years.

Back in 1874,. the residents had rented two rooms for reading and recreation, but, although they proved popular, it was clear that a bigger and more permanent place was needed.

Eventually, a small fund was started, and it was given a boost when a modest legacy was left by Mrs Robinson, of Providence Cottage. It took a long time to get the project under way, but when it did begin, there was great support from the community.

George Race, an architect, drew all the plans free of charge; George Hodgson, a solicitor, did all the legal formalities without asking for payment.

Many men and strong lads gave up their summer holidays and Saturdays to cut stone from a quarry at Middlehope.

A number of villagers were quarry workers, so they knew how to carve out and dress the right material, with lead miners giving a helping hand.

Farmers used their horses and carts to transport it to the village centre. The voluntary labour force then dismantled an old tenement and started putting up the new structure, no doubt with guidance from craftsmen employed by George Race’s building firm.

The women helped in several ways, not least by supplying tea and food to the willing workers. The Darlington and Stockton Times reported: “Everyone worked heartily, and without pay.”

It was certainly a superb community enterprise. The place was packed to see Sir Joseph Pease formally opening it. His audience included a clutch of local dignitaries and “as many enthusiastic villagers as the room would hold”.

The building, described at the time as commodious and neat, and now known as the village hall, has been a valuable asset to the residents for 115 years.

It has become well known to people passing through Westgate for the large clock attached to the front as a memorial to local men who gave their lives in the First World War.

The famous timepiece is away at the moment being renovated, but is due to be put back in position on Tuesday next week. Hundreds of folk who travel up and down Weardale each week will be glad to rely on it once more for giving the exact time.

WHEN Malcolm Grainge was a post office mechanic he had to deal with mail vehicles that had broken down or were trapped in snowdrifts.

So he was pleased to see a recent picture here of Harry Maddison as a young telegraph messenger on a BSA motorbike.

“I spent time repairing that very machine and its successors, which was a never ending job,” he stated. Why so? “Because Harry, in common with his accomplices, seemed hell bent on destroying them as fast as possible,” he explained, jokingly.

The village hall at Westgate, known as The Institute when built in 1899

He remembered Harry being stranded at Bowes Moor Hotel for three days in the 1963 storm, and another incident about him in that era.

“Adhering to the proud decree in those days that the mail must get through, he charged his van into a 4ft snowdrift on a farm road,” said Malcolm. “He failed to break through it and then abandoned the vehicle, so I was despatched in a lorry to attempt a rescue.”

After a lot of shovelling, heaving, towing and grunting, the van was freed so the postie went on to complete his round.

Malcolm, who sold a 1953 Austin Somerset car to Harry for £50, also has fond memories of Frank Warwick, the Barnard Castle postmaster at that time.

Unlike some postmasters who ruled their offices with a rod of iron, he was considerate to the staff and greatly respected.

“He would give me as much as ten shillings to service his Ford Prefect during my lunch break,” added the genial former mechanic, who now lives in Richmond.

He still has a cotoneaster, a shrub bearing red berries, grown from a cutting taken from the post office garden as a reminder of the popular boss.

Malcolm and Harry have been in touch with each other to exchange old memories since the story appeared.

That pleased David Charlesworth, who was kind enough to tell me about the Bowes Moor escapade in the first place.

TWO men made heroic efforts to fight a fire which broke out underground in a dale coal mine in 1890.

Overman Johnson and deputy Dixon found timber blazing in the New Copley pit, in Cockfield.

They tried to put out the flames but the heat was so intense and smoke so thick that they were driven back and both fell uncionscious at different times.

Other men helped to get them out and they were treated by a doctor.

Luckily, it happened between shifts, otherwise many men could have been in serious danger.

The pit employed 70 miners that year. It opened in 1860 and was owned at the time by the Woodland Coal Company.

Later, it had more than 250 miners on its payroll.

Once the flames seemed to be out, other miners were allowed in to work in another section of the pit. But the manager was worried, so the men were ordered out as a precaution.

It was suspected it started when a man’s oil lamp set fire to a piece of canvas, then spread to timbers before setting coal alight.

It was an example of how dangerous coal mines could be. Eleven miners lost their lives in single accidents at the mine during the decades it was in operation.

The youngest casualty was 12-year-old incline boy Arthur Gould, who was hard at work on February 1884 when a chain broke, causing a tub to run down and crash into him.

Another link worker, William Neasham, 19, was killed in June 1880 when a full tub ran down a bank and struck him “with fearful force”. Most of the others lost their lives due to falls of stone or rock.

Last week’s story about the Reverend Crawford Bowen quickly found its way to Australia, South Africa, the US and Canada, where descendants of him and his wife, Hannah, live.

It was sent to them by Dr Tony Nicholson, who supplied details for the article and is writing a book about the fascinating clergyman.