SOUTH PARK was opened without any formal fuss around 1850 and its very first adornment, apart from the paths made with slag from the bottom of the Peases’ blast furnaces, was a “refreshment establishment”.
On June 4, 1908, the rustic tea pavilion was opened (above). It cost £300 to build with its woodwork patterns made by a Leeds firm who, on the east side, cleverly depicted the borough coat of arms in logs.
READ MORE: A POTTED HISTORY OF DARLINGTON'S SOUTH PARK
In 2004, the National Lottery awarded the park £3.9m for a refurbishment of its historic features, and the tea pavilion was restored.
The story goes that once the restoration was completed, someone noticed that one of the workmen must have been a Newcastle United fan because while he was re-creating the square log patterns, he secretly wrote the name of his team into the west side of the pavilion – a side that is now irretrievably covered in creepers and boarding.
Memories has always believed that it was the initials “NUFC” that were clandestinely built into the pavilion, but Colin Bainbridge has produced photographic evidence to show that the last letter is an “N” and so we now believe that the word “TOON” is the hidden word.
See the N of TOON on the right?
READ MORE: BOATING DAYS IN DARLINGTON'S SOUTH PARK
ONE of the park’s most celebrated features is now more relevant than ever: the Sebastopol cannon, that was captured in triumph by the British when they defeated the Russians in the Crimean War in 1854.
But the pacifist Peases – the principal Quaker family in the town – were opposed to the war and sent one of their leading members, Henry of Pierremont, on a 3,600 mile dash through the snow to St Petersburg in a forlorn attempt to persuade the tsar to avert conflict.
The Peases’ opponents then forced a motion through the council to request two captured cannons to go on High Row as a monument to the great British victory.
When one cannon arrived, the Peases regrouped and quietly had it dumped in the long grass in South Park – until it blew up into a passionate row, with the cannon itself writing stirring letters to local newspapers about its predicament and hundreds of townspeople attending packed public meetings accusing the Peases of being unpatriotic and blocking a democratic decision.
Joseph Pease thought the long grass was an appropriate place for it. “Laying where it was, the chairman said he thought it was a most beautiful emblem of peace, for he had actually seen lambs feeding close to the muzzle of the gun,” reported the Darlington Telegraph in 1861, “a remark which was received with loud laughter.”
Such was the strength of feeling that the Peases were forced to put the cannon on display but they only attached a begrudging plaque to it giving the barest of information.
In the early days, the cannon, which was made in 1824, struck a bellicose pose with its barrel pointing straight at visitors to the park, as this excellent picture from Colin Bainbridge’s collection shows (above). However, about 100 years ago, perhaps to stop clambering kids using it as a climbing frame, the barrel was pointed skywards.
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