Golden Browney

BROWNEY'S a little place three or four miles south of Durham, named after the river which ripples restlessly nearby and which had an uncomfortable habit of flooding the pit bottom.

Things were different before they closed the coalhouse door, of course. Old villagers recall six general dealers, two fish and chip shops, hardware shop, ice cream parlour, scouts hut and three chapels - including that known as Jimmy Murray's chapel, after the local MP.

Jimmy Murray, they reckon, took years to make his maiden speech, finally rose to his feet during the Second World War, complained about the shortage of dum-tits at Meadowfield Co-op and seldom spat it out thereafter. The story may be apocryphal.

Browney Colliery had closed, flooded, in 1938. Bit by bit, the village went under with it. Now there's a single shop, a school which Durham County Council wanted to close - they had a protest march at last year's Big Meeting - and, then as now, Browney workmen's club.

Last week, remarkably at a time when so many others in County Durham have forever thrown in the bar towel, the club celebrated its centenary.

"The ones that have closed have usually been the ones which lived beyond their means," says Tommy Akers, Browney's treasurer.

"They're the ones who've had big ideas, added on concert rooms and television rooms. There's nee one owed anything here and nee one gets paid, not even for duties."

Other factors, he reckons, are the club's warmth, friendliness and good beer - the liquid assets attributed to steward John Timmins and his wife, Barbara. "I don't want to boast," says Tommy, "but it's the best beer for many a mile around here".

It was originally four small houses, two colliery back-to-backs, knocked together in 1904 to make a club which in its first six months, made £133 profit. A lot of money, they agree, in those days.

When the miners came up with their wages, it's said, there were nights when you couldn't see across the bar for coal dust.

Now there's a bar, lounge ("just about defunct since we started letting women into the bar," says Tommy), upstairs concert room that's rarely used after problems over noise insulation and almost 1,000 members - far more than the village population - of whom 38 are women.

They couldn't all get in at the same time, of course, and if they ever tried to they'd have to get past 85-year-old Billy Smith, oldest member and doughty doorman. Bit of a bloodhound, Billy, they reckon.

There's also a little committee room with pictures of past celebrations, the original embossed club stamp and a small computer of more recent vintage. Nee one uses it, they say.

Last Wednesday evening there were five in, though they cheered for 50 when Germany went out of Europe. Notices ban betting, drugs and drinking under age; another advises that the television is for sport only and that racing takes precedence over all other sports.

The telly's on loan from one of the members. "We've quite a few who like to help out," says Tommy - credited by Malcolm Lee, Browney lad and retired manager of Curry's in Bishop, with ensuring the social club's survival. "He's a good business head on him," says Malcolm.

Tommy, 72, was born in the Scotswood Road area of Newcastle, moved south to work at Bearpark colliery, invested in a bakery business in South Shields when the pit closed.

"I knew nowt about baking, I was an electrician, but we got a bit money from the pit and it was either that or drink it."

Now he's also a village school governor - "lovely little school, fantastic Ofsted report" - and a member of the parish council, which refused to sell for housing the allotments over the road.

"We could have been the richest parish council in the country," he says without regret. "They kept the allotments for daft lads like me. "

They're reminiscing now, talking about the road races the club used to organise - "spoiled it when they let outsiders in" - about how ten buses would set away when Browney Juniors won the County Cup and how three train loads headed for South Shields for the club trip, never repeated after a youngster tragically drowned.

Robin Kirkpatrick, a member since 1956 ("mebbe a bit longer") recalls both queuing to get in, lucky to get a seat, and the waiting list for the committee - a real status symbol, he says.

"Oh aye," agrees Malcolm Lee, "you were a local celebrity if you ever got onto the committee".

Friday nights and Sunday dinner times best, lads in from Ushaw Moor and all over. Robin says it's important that the club continues - "not just for the small few around here, but for all the colliery lads". Tommy Akers sees no reason why it shouldn't.

"We're just ticking along, deein' things right, only spending what we've got. There's no big secret to it." They were good people and it was a thoroughly convivial evening. Browney points all round.

TONY Golightly, former chief executive of Chester-le-Street district council and now honorary secretary of the Albany Northern League, has further fond memories of Browney Club. His dad was steward in the 1950s. "It was a real village and everyone looked after one another, even us lads from the big city of Chester-le-Street," he says.

He'd work the downstairs bar and (he says) beat all comers at snooker; his future wife Enid would pull pints in the singing end above. "The women always got the hard work because they had to pull a pint twice, once from the cellar to the bar and another pull to the concert room."

They were even married from Browney in 1959, the wedding put back to 3pm so that his parents - "the members had to be looked after first" - might toast the happy couple.