POMPEY and circumstance, as Sir Edward Elgar might almost have observed, a signal arrives from the 20,000 tonne amphibious assault ship HMS Bulwark, heading duck to water towards the Tyne.

Called to explain how the city of Portsmouth landed the nickname Pompey - last week's column was assiduously contemplating its naval - Cdr Julian Litchfield consults New Covey Crump, an alphabetic glossary of seagoing terms.

Similarly fascinated, John Briggs in Darlington invited the Royal Navy Museum in London to explain both Pompey and (as we suggested) Guzz, with which Devenport is tarred.

Pompey, says Cdr Litchfield, originated from drunken sailors' mispronunciation of Portsmouth Point, the place at which ships' boats berthed before the dockyard was up and gunning. The museum offers that one and seven other possible explanations, ranging from Portsmouth sailors who climbed Pompey's tower near Alexandra to something improbably connected with Portuguese men of war.

On Guzz they agree, however. The Plymouth port and its west country hinterland were famed the seven seas for cream teas and other culinary delights. "Guzz" is simply short for guzzle.

SOME naval nicknames (again per John Briggs) for men with the following surnames: Daisy BELL, Betsy GAY, Timber WOOD, Florrie FORD, Tug WILSON, Spud MURPHY, Dodger LONG, Flapper HUGHES, Sharkey WARD and, of course, Nosey PARKER.

KNOWING the column's concern for the English language. Ian Forsyth in Durham sends both a set of grammatical rules called "Prose and Cons" and a note about broadcaster John Humphrys' new book on the subject.

The rules may be familiar: eschew ampersands & abbreviations etc; be more or less specific; parenthetical remarks (however relevant) are (usually) unnecessary. John Humphrys' book is new.

It's called Lost For Words: the Mangling and Manipulation of the English Language and - as Alf Hutchinson in Darlington reports - the author has perhaps unsurprisingly been plugging it in the radio.

Another of the prose and cons is that prepositions are not words to end sentences with, a point Humphrys addressed with the story of the young student from Hicksville on his first day at Harvard University.

"Say y'all," he addresses a fellow student, "can you tell me where the library's at?"

The second student looks disdainful. "At Harvard," he says, "we never end a sentence with a preposition."

"Begging your goddam pardon," says the hick. "Can you tell me where the library's at, asshole?"

AS if there weren't enough trouble with the aberrant apostrophe, Ray Powlay in Brompton, Northallerton, calls for a campaign for the retention of the hyphen. "I have recently realised why I have trouble with 'Flying insect killer' and 'Temporary bus stop' - how does the insect killer fly and is it a stop for temporary buses?" Dashed awkward, no doubt - or is he, asks Ray, alone in having the problem?

AS recent columns have observed, this grammatical punctiliousness was instilled in the third form at Bishop Auckland Grammar School by Geoff Hill, known as Chester after Matt Dillon's limping deputy.

An invitation to the first event in a year of celebrations to mark the school's 400th anniversary has arrived in the same post as a letter from Geoff himself, now retired but still just a couple of adjectival clauses from the school.

"Thanks," he writes, "for them kind words what as been brought to my attention. Because to really and trully help you to write and speak proper was allway's my aim."

The letter ends with characteristic good grace. "You have done good with your writting," he says.

WHAT would the old school have made of the only jarring note at last week's ever-excellent Local Heroes awards - the repeated use of the phrase "Give it up", apparently meaning to applaud loudly? In Geoff Hill's class at Bishop Grammar, all we'd give it up for was Lent.

NOT even the esteemed education at Bishop Grammar might have prevented the mistaken use of one of the illustrations when last week's column discussed jumping the broomstick on Barnard Castle bridge.

"Like Chester you may have developed a pronounced limp, having shot yourself in the foot," writes Charles Lilley, himself an old BAGS boy.

"Illicit marriage would have been fairly hazardous in Barney if your picture of the bridge is accurate," says Paul Dobson, also in Bishop Auckland.

"Blame the sub-editors," advises Jon Smith in Barningham, Teesdale.

The broomstick marriages, as we said, were conducted by the son of the rector of Romaldkirk towards the end of the 17th century. The problem was that the illustration was of Barnard Castle railway bridge, not the ancient County bridge, thus rendering the couple's happiness pretty short lived if run down by a train.

Charles Lilley concludes that a 17th century railway bridge must have beaten Tanfield Arch by several decades. "It's only a pity that they hadn't built the castle nearer the station, thus shortening the walk to catch the school train."

SEVERAL years ago, recalls Brian Myers, Gadfly complained that the only sign of Christmas lighting in Willington was the blue (but hardly natal) star shining outside the Market Tavern.

"The people who matter in Willington took this on board and when all approaches to Wear Valley District Council were rejected because of resource problems and other cuts decided to do something about it."

On December 11 at 7pm, NW Durham MP Hilary Armstrong will switch on the lights of a tree which, with anciliary works, will have cost £4,500 but with no charge to the local taxpayers.

Enlightenment comes at the same time as the £450,000 Town Green project nears completion. Aycliffe and Brancepeth brass band and Carillon, a group of singers from Durham, will provide music. Others will provide mince pies and ginger wine.

The lights, adds Brian - the town's county councillor - may even eclipse the blue star outside the Market Tavern.

...and finally, the reason that HMS Bulwark is heading pacifically for these waters is that it's Co Durham's newly adopted ship, tying up at the Tyne Commission Quay tomorrow for a four day visit and open to the public from 10.30am-4pm on Saturday.

All are welcome, amphibiously and unambiguously. Whilst aboard, they might ask Cdr Litchfield what a covey crump is, an' all.

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