John North: Ground force

Part of the annual open day, May 31, the column had been asked officially to open the new sensory garden - which should not, of course, be described as a sensual garden, as an Echo headline writer did in previewing the project 18 months ago.

The open day goes ahead. "See some real working allotments," say the posters and few anywhere work better than these - the association a wonderful example of a community which fought back after damn near losing the plot.

We cultivated their acquaintance on Tuesday morning, instead. It was glorious, a perfect picture of contentment.

Just four years ago, the allotments were a regular target for vandals, thieves and fly tippers, occupancy falling almost weekly, weeds both actual and metaphorical. Then they formed the association and with the help of Groundwork West Durham dug in. Several environmental and community awards later, the seven acre area is restored, all 99 plots taken by holders from as far away as Bishop Auckland and Byers Green.

"Ivverybody said it couldn't be done," says former pitman Richie Hunter, 79, "then ivverybody just mucked in."

Willington's in south-west Durham, the allotments near the former Bishop Auckland to Durham railway line. Richie remembers them in wartime when tenants were allowed to keep two pigs, one for sale and one for self.

His own little acre is a sort of allotment emporium, hens to hyacinths, though not in the same league, Richie insists, as Jackie Wood's alongside. "Really I've no right to be next to him. He won't have a weed in the place; I believe that where weeds will grow, other things will grow, too."

As well as the verdant sensory garden there's now a wetland area and an impressive "trading hut" with toilets, comfortable seating and hot drinks facilities. "It's nee good having nowt and looking like you haven't," says Bob Prudhoe, cheerfully brewing the coffee

On the wall there's a two page spread from Gardening News. The Willington lads, it says, have claimed back the land.

There are also rather a lot of rules, including one warning of much higher rents for those with less than half their land in good order and another about conditions for cockerels, crowing of. Cockerels, it says, must be locked up in a night box to ensure they're quiet until 8am.

"See the secretary," it adds, "if you have any queries about how this may be done."

The rule about dog muck, alas, is one of which our photographer fell foul. "It's lucky to get that on your shoes," said one of the gardeners.

"Aye it is," said the photographer, "a new pair of shoes on expenses."

The secretary is Paul Archer, postman and cockerel man, chiefly credited - with chairman Paul Goundry - with the remarkable re-growth.

"It's their thing like, they love it, they're the lads," says Richie.

Paul Archer was also chiefly responsible for the wetland area, begging telegraph poles from BT, plants from the Wildlife Trust, funds from Shell UK.

There are damsel flies and dragon flies, hedgehogs and water beetles, fish in the pond - "no bread" - and butterflies carefully checked off on a chart on the hut wall.

As it should be there are still pigeon men and leek men, too, though leek shows are said to have been badly hit ("proper fettled it," says Richie) by the National Lottery.

They are men at work and men at play. On the Rosedale and Victoria Allotments, everything in the garden's lovely.

*The open day on May 31 is from 10am-4pm, with plant sales and refreshments. The sensory garden opening - by someone else - is at noon.

FINGERS still green, soil still sticking to the boots, we addressed on Tuesday evening the 25th anniversary dinner of Weardale Flower Club. A truly rose-coloured occasion.

Journalists love such things. They can write, see above, of blooming miracles and of budding florists, of shrinking violets - not too many of those in Weardale - and of ideas taking root.

These columns, of course, decline to be planted about with such clematis cliches.

The do was at the Horsley Hall Hotel near Eastgate, elegantly restored, a gentle evening stroll up the back road from Stanhope signposted to Horsley, Hasswicks - Hasswicks? Never heard of it - and Brotherlee.

One of our unfulfilled ambitions is to report a marriage, or a golden wedding or something, at Brotherlee, thus affording the headline Brotherlee Love. Though there may only be three or four houses up there, perhaps their occupants will bear it in mind.

The flower club has around 50 members, including eight founders, though in all that time there's been just one feller and he quickly wilted - surprising because men are reckoned the better flower arrangers.

"It's like chefs," said Ruby Porter, the chairman. "Men seem to be able to concentrate better."

The meal was first rate, the company convivial, the dinner table talk of Shildon flower club, bless them, who that very day had won a medal at Chelsea.

We quoted them the bit from St Matthew's gospel about considering the lilies of the field - who toil not, neither do they spin - recounted the unfortunate story of the lawn mower and the live wire, were given a bottle of something a little more potent than elderberry cordial, were home by 11.30.

And so, as the flower people might say, to bed.

FOR reasons which may be as plain as a pea stick, the column is rarely invited to the really posh dos.

This evening, however, we shall be in number one dress uniform (Affleck and Moffatt Artillery) at a Gosforth Park Hotel dinner to support the Toby Henderson Trust Centre for Autism Development, near Morpeth.

Autism is baffling and fearful. One of the children who attends the centre has only ever had a haircut under general anaesthetic.

Kevin Keegan's the principal speaker. Much more of that next week.

NONE of the reactions to last week's piece on the promised regeneration of Seaton Carew was more evocative than that of Raymond Gibson, who camped there with Evenwood scouts in 1937.

Little, says Raymond, seems to have changed - not even the weather, which poured so constantly that they almost abandoned ship.

The amusement arcades were already coining it - "they weren't banned, but we weren't encouraged, either" - the little shops were much the same as still they are, the swimming baths were still going.

They camped in the "gun field", near Holy Trinity church, so called because a First World War cannon was still in place there and was useful for drying wet clothes on.

Raymond's still in Evenwood, one of four survivors from the 30 or so scouts who trooped off to the seaside. "Seaton Carew reminds me of a place put into mothballs," he says. "I'm amazed that those old shops are still there."

Evenwood's scout leaders mightn't have been too impressed, either. After two summers at Seaton, they decamped to Upleatham instead.

...and finally, a reward for courage, another reminder of the real ale festival at the Grand in Bishop Auckland from tomorrow until Monday. In a town near saturated with keg ales, they deserve richly to succeed. We hope to look in tomorrow evening.