Eating Owt

Also in attendance were a surprisingly decorous (if rather senior) party from Birtley Rugby Club and a member of the column's extensive legal team, with whom we fell to discussing the term "without prejudice".

"Without prejudice", he said - inter alia, as a true barrack room lawyer might suppose - was a phrase used on the top of quasi-legal correspondence, meaning that the writer would be spending the next three pages talking through the seat of his corduroys. It is worth remembering.

Harperley Camp, opened in 1943 and in use until early 1948, may not exactly have been Colditz. Prisoners, Italian and German mainly, were allowed out to work; local lasses were allowed in for dances and for whatever else was thought fit and proper in the 1940s.

The views up Weardale were - and remain - wonderful, the sort of thing for which you'd tunnel in.

Almost 50 huts remained, their wall paintings latterly famous. Eight huts are already restored, 13 will become holiday chalets, more will be turned into a museum. A wartime-themed dance in a marquee this weekend has sold all 600 tickets.

If nostalgia isn't what it used to be, the 21st century version is proving hugely popular.

The wartime camp magazine was apparently called Der Quell, though those of us who scraped A-level German might have supposed Die Quelle more accurate. Either way it means "The source" and has been resurrected as the title of the evening menu.

The place is now owned by James and Lisa McLeod. Lisa designed the restaurant interior while retaining the genuine, Jerry-built PoW exterior.

"This place must have changed a lot in the last 50 years," we observed to Mr Tom Moffatt, while passing ships in the gents.

"Why?" said Tom, "Have you been here before?"

It's comfortable, old and new, wisely not too camped up. The little square windows have chintz curtains, the music machine plays stuff like Don't Sit Under the Apple Tree and the Woody Woodpecker Song, though how many prisoners of war went around whistling Woody Woodpecker can only be imagined. The piano is silent, which seems a missed opportunity.

By the black leaded range there's a radio of the suitcase-sized sort that was called a wireless - why? - and which could get Home Service and Hilversum and things.

Second question: where the hell's Hilversum? In front of it are two "easy" chairs of the sort which were really rather difficult and cost about five years' coupons. A notice asks customers not to sit on them, lest they (and the chairs) collapse in a heap.

The menu, too, largely resists the temptation to war games, though day time specials often include rabbit pie, corned beef hash - recommended by Bryan Chambers, from Durham - and spam fritters. (Spamming it up, so to speak.)

There are also snacks, salads, baguettes and other hot meals like sausage and mash and "special" lamb stew, almost nothing over a fiver.

The evening menu is more adventurous. The Boss's swordfish steak with a warm cracked pepper, lime juice, shallot, black olive and olive oil sauce was sensational for £10.95 - ka-PoW, as they might have said in 1945 - the ostrich with a raisin, green onion and wine sauce was rather a fetching bird, too.

Two of us started with "black pudding Somerset", deep fried with apple sauce. "Heart attack food," said the lawyer's splendid wife, a member of one of the myriad health boards which so clog the national arteries. The batter has been better.

Other starters included prawn and crab gnocchi ("lovely," said The Boss), smoked salmon gravadlax and a sort of chicken, melon and kiwi fruit salad. Main courses might have been duck breast with a plum, ginger, honey and almond sauce about which the lawyer made the most eager representations, tarragon chicken or vegetable loaf, for £7.95.

Vegetables - potatoes, broccoli, carrots - were cooked carefully but with a lack of sophistication and imagination that bordered on the austerical. Rations were generous.

Puddings were fine, not least a splendidly light almond apricot sponge, like the camp commandant's mother used to make.

It was a very pleasant way to pass a summer's evening, about £20 a head without drinks. Forget the escape bid, this - without prejudice, of course - is the one you might have to come back for.

l Harperley Camp (01388 767098) is just past the A68/A689 roundabout heading up Weardale. The restaurant is open seven days and Thursday to Saturday evenings. A German Christmas market and special menu are planned every Thursday, Friday and Saturday from November 25.

THEY brought on the Indian dancing girls at the Garden of India in Darlington last Tuesday - flew them up from London, in fact - part of a charity evening which raised £1,000 for the work of the South Durham Cancer Unit.

Though the column couldn't make it, Granville Gibson - retired Archdeacon of Auckland - reports that Raju amd Sheju Ahmed laid on a memorable evening, and want to thank all who supported them.

RUN for six years by a husband and wife team and 30 volunteers, the cafe at Newcastle's Roman Catholic cathedral - near the railway station - has been taken over commercially by the Mark Antony company, in the city for 101 years.

Antonio Marcantonio, so legend has it, had other plans when following the ice cream trail from Italy but could only afford the train fare to Tyneside.

The cafe's now called The Cloister, the religious theme continued in a virtual month of sundaes with names like amen corner, cardinal's delight ("our famous strawberry sundae, the way it always was") and knickerbocker gloria. Rather neat, that.

We arrived at 1.45, the place pleasant and peaceful, lunch advertised until 2.30pm. What, we asked, was the pie of the day.

"All gone," said the assistant, in the manner of an irritable infant having finally seen off the last of the Weetabix. Whatever happened to the feeding of the five thousand?

The quiche was substantial and very pleasant as quiche goes, the chips indifferent. The salad comprised a single scalpel-sliced sliver of cucumber, tomato (ditto) and a smidgeon of lettuce.

You've heard of ye of little faith? St Mary's cathedral now applies it to salad, as well.

The amen corner sundae (£3.50) was described as "whole amareno black cherries soaked with cherry brandy liqueur at every corner, topped with whipped cream and a wafer curl" and was the sort of thing for which once you'd have to seek an indulgence. Antonio Marcantonio made his name with them.

The Cloister is open every day from 7.45am, with shorter opening on the day of rest.

IT'S probably not even to gloat about stopping off at the wondrous buffet on Stalybridge railway station - "legendary pie and peas" he says - that the Stokesley Stockbroker reports his homeward train journey from Manchester, rather because being able to stop en route reminded him of a tombstone epitaph of a lady who did likewise:

Here lie the bones of Elizabeth Verney, who fell from a train and broke her journey

ANOTHER winner - a year after we enthused about both food and drink at Pelaw Grange greyhound stadium, north of Chester-le-Street, it's been named the Durham CAMRA branch's club of the year.

The Horseshow Hotel at Egton Bridge on the North Yorkshire moors is Cleveland CAMRA's pub of the season. "Consistently good," they say.

...and finally, the bairns wondered if we knew what you feed under-nourished dwarves.

Elf raising flour, of course.

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