John North: The Archer's sundae best

A TAXI is called for, The Northern Echo to Walworth. "Northern Echo to Woolworth's," repeats the controller, and is perforce reminded of the misdirection of his ways.

Woolworth's is a 100-yard dash from here, probably less when the Olympic games are on. Walworth is five or six miles north-west, roughly between A67 and A68, home to a hotel with a peripatetic parrot and to the farm run by John and Sue Archer.

Bucolic jokes about an everyday story of country folk may be inserted here.

Like many more, they were severely hit by the 2001 outbreak of foot and mouth disease. "We saw it coming down from Wolsingham, down, down," recalls Sue Archer.

"We were the first to put down straw, took every possible precaution from the second we heard of the first case but it came over the fields from Summerhouse and couldn't do a thing. It devastated us.

"We were the last, mid-June. It stopped here and it was absolutely terrible. We lost everything.

"We were seriously tempted to go abroad, but we stopped here for the children."

They re-stocked with Jerseys and with the help of a £25,000 DEFRA grant have this summer diversified into an ice cream parlour in the middle of nowhere, a dozen delicious flavours of Archer's Exquisite and very good coffee as well.

Never in a month of sundaes? It's been steady away, as they say, and overflowing on bank holidays.

"They reckon last year was the best summer for 500 years. I suppose it was a bit optimistic to expect another one straight after," says John.

"It's still good to be meeting people, instead of filling a tanker with milk and watching it head down the drive without even knowing where it's going."

By way of further diversification, however, we need before proceeding incorrigibly to address the apostrophe which now appears on all their promotional material.

They took advice on it, rang the headmaster at the local primary school, finally took his well tutored word.

Since the business is run by both of them, however, and since the three kids muck in as farmers' kids should, it seems from here that the apostrophe should be after the 's'. There was only one F W Woolworth.

The debate continued disreputably. Should there be a primary (or even a secondary) case for reconsideration?

The Archers, at any rate, were advised that lest there be further agricultural Armageddon, they needed to add value to their milk.

Their livestock and damn nearly their livelihood destroyed, they brought in Jerseys from three different herds and began again. "It hadn't been the best ten years until then and it hasn't been since," says Sue, who gave up her job as a holistics lecturer at Darlington College to hand make ice cream and to encourage folk to come, seven days a week, into the parlour.

Six months ago it was a garage. Now it's wholly welcoming, offers home made flavours like raspberry pavlova and mango yogurt and has a playground and farm animals to amuse the offspring.

The 309-acre tenanted farm is owned (like much else) by the Church Commissioners. Their 320 cows are milked twice a day, yielding a daily 4,000 litres. Only a tiny proportion is so far used for ice cream, though Sue hopes in the make winter to make ice cream cakes as well.

"Last month we were selling for 21p a litre; that's nothing. The ice cream adds value to our milk.

"You look at a lot of commercial ice cream and it isn't the same product. Some of it doesn't even contain milk; the ingredients are horrific. We like to think this is ice cream as it was meant to be."

The favourite thus far is a New Zealand recipe called hokey-tokey, made with cinder toffee. Not in the least diverse, it was unequivocally delicious.

UP at the Moss Inn in Sunniside - the draughty Sunniside, the one above Crook - they fell the other night to discussing the identity of Co Durham places with the letter Q in the name.

"Using our skill and judgement we got the obvious three but Lol Cullinan was convinced there was a fourth," reports Paddy Burton, and asks if we've any ideas.

The column's skill and judgement eventually garnered Quebec, Quarrington Hill and Quaking Houses, lately lightning struck. Might the fourth be Quarry Burn, once a separate part of Hunwick and until recently still with a pub named after it.

They also wonder why there's a part of Wolsingham called Scotch Isle - "For further erudite banter," says Paddy, "drop into the Moss Inn, any evening, late on."

THE indefatigable Denis Edkins, at 75 still happily hammering out lots at his auction rooms in Bishop Auckland, managed a recent long weekend in the Barnard Castle area. He found it closed.

It was a Sunday. "There were people walking around looking for somewhere to spend money and nowhere for them to go," he says.

"The town was full of visitors but most of the shops and cafes were shut. No doubt they went away thinking that next time they'd go somewhere else."

Next day they went back to Barney. Even the public toilets were locked.

G H Edkins, long familiar, was founded by Denis's grandfather in 1907. He himself now commutes three days a week from Redcar.

"It's better than sitting at home twiddling my thumbs," he says. "I plan to be around to celebrate the centenary."

THE Tan Hill Inn, highest in England and now safely returned to North Yorkshire, stages its folk festival this weekend.

"People ask me where it is. I tell them it's in the middle of nowhere," says Ian Luck, the organiser. More specifically, it's about ten miles west of Reeth.

Famously featured in the late Ted Moult's Everest double glazing adverts, the pub was also the venue for a recent X-files spoof Vodafone commercial, though that doesn't entirely explain why there's a mobile in a pickle jar on the bar.

It's because they hardly ever work up there, and because the sensible staff hate them when they do.

The folk festival begins tomorrow with the Scratch Band from Trimdon and with floor singers, singalongs and dances all day Saturday with Eddie Walker and Roger Sutcliffe at night and winds up on Sunday lunchtime.

Admission, says Ian, is free. Drinks, unfortunately, are not.

... and finally, we wish to thank the anonymous soul - or if not anonymous, illegible - who on spotting the column meandering towards the Highland Laddie in Haughton-le-Skerne assumed it to be for a game of dominoes ("or pitch and toss") and has sent a good-as-new green £1 note to help cover the expected losses. Generously if not legally tendered, it is no less gratefully received.