Has Berriman's van had its chips?

It was a two pint reverie, no more, during which memories of Berriman's chip van - horse drawn, coke-fired - had aromatically arisen. All we'd wondered, though, was if they sold fish and chips, or simply chips.

That was the easy bit. At Berriman's you could have fishcake or chips, even fishcake and chips, but apart from salt and vinegar, wrapped or open, there wasn't any other choice.

Ah yes, everyone remembered, but what wonderful chips.

"Utterly excellent," says Bill Scarlett; "best in the county," insists Anne Cleave; "a distant but very happy memory," adds Colin Jones.

Berriman's van traded in Spennymoor until the late 1960s, latterly at the back of the old Waterloo pub where it was popular with rockers rolling from The Rink and with greenhorn reporters staggering, stupefied, from three hour ordeals of the Urban District Council.

The horse was stabled nearby, at the back of the Dicey's School, it's widely recalled, though none suggests who Dicey might have been.

Mrs R Hamilton, now 69, lived next door to the stable. "It was very noisy at times but everyone liked to go to the chip van. I wish it was still there."

It had belonged to George Kirtley - otherwise Chip Van Geordie, probably not going Dutch - who'd bought it from his brother-in-law in 1923 and sold it to Doug Berriman 12 years later. Three of Doug's four sons worked that little van, too.

"I don't know why they never sold fish, but the chips became really famous," says Bill Berriman, Doug's grandson - who, incidentally, is a regular golf partner at Bishop Auckland of 70-year-old Bob Stokoe, who led Sunderland to FA Cup victory in 1973.

The memories aren't all as mellow, however. The brothers who worked the chip can, including Bill's father, all died in their 50s. The fourth lived until well turned 70. "I always blame the coke fumes," says Bill. It was a huge price for fourpenn'orth of chips.

STUCK on the end of the van, the prices are on the evocative oil by Norman Cornish, now 81, Spennymoor's renowned pitman painter: chips 4d and 6d; fishcakes 4d. There's a queue; like the mendicant dogs, there usually was.

The Cornish painting - simply entitled The Old Chip Van, Spennymoor - was sold for £1,650 in 1996, to a private collector in Willington. Perhaps there it still hangs.

Though no longer on the road, the old van survives, too - out of sight, if not mind, in storage at Beamish Museum. As several other readers recall, it went to Beamish in 1973 and has never publicly been seen since.

"Languishing in a corner, probably," suggests Peter Crawforth. "An awful lot seems to be in store at Beamish," says Ray Price (whose e-mail address, for some reason, is Moggiman.)

Rosemary Allen, Beamish's senior keeper, knows it's still there somewhere, but can't remember where. "It's one of those things we would love to see outside, though it needs rather a lot of restoration. We would love it if someone came up with the funds but I don't think it could ever be used for trading with all the modern health and hygiene regulations. They simply wouldn't allow it."

SO is the public display at the North-East Open Air Museum simply the tip of some socio-historical iceberg, the rest forever out of sight? Rosemary Allen steers warily. "Funding is quite tight. We only get four per cent of our money from local authorities and have to find the other 96 per cent ourselves," she says.

At the moment, however, the usually hidden collection is being moved from Beamish Hall ("it really is a case of all hands on deck") to new accommodation on the main museum site. "The new building will be much more accessible. An awful lot of what we have had for the past 30 years has been on display, a lot will be more easily seen."

And the Old Chip Van, Spennymoor? "It does need rather a lot of restoration work," she says.

IT has been promoted hereabouts so many times over the years that they really should send down an express delivery fish and six - preferably with scrappins - every Friday dinner time for life. The region's only remaining coal-fired fish and chip shop isn't at Beamish, however, but in Esh Winning Front Street, five miles west of Durham. Nowadays, of course, there are endless health and safety regulations which properly must be observed - but Fields' fish and chips bring back wonderful memories, nonetheless.

WHEN not contemplating fish and chip suppers, last week's column also touched upon Burns Night, officially January 25 but a pretty fluid feast. We hear of a Burns Night supper in Ripon where, there being no piper to pay, the haggis was heralded by a piano accordionist and - from Ian Andrew - of a splendid sounding Burns supper at Lanchester Methodist church.

For the bravehearts there was haggis, neeps and parsley tatties, for the less adventurous (said the menu) there was "savoury roast". They also enjoyed cockaleekie soup, Scots trifle, shortbread, Selkirk Grace and an address to the haggis by Ian himself.

But mark the rustic, haggis-fed,

The trembling earth resounds his tread,

Clap in his walie nieve a blade, he'll mak it whissle;

An' legs, an' arms, an' heads will sned, like taps o' thristle....

Lanchester's between Durham and Consett; up there they talk of little else.

Just one snag, however. Since alcohol is still frowned upon on Methodist premises it seemed inadvisable to offer the traditional quaich of whisky to Scott Inglis, the piper. The piper, and the Immortal Memory, were toasted in Irn-Bru, instead.

AN e-mail also from Andrew Christer in Darlington, recommending sausages from Staindrop (of which more elsewhere) and wishing us a happy Burn's Night. Poor Rabbie, alas, will be turning apostrophetically in his grave.

FINALLY back to fishy business, to the Cod Handicap, the Mackerel Claiming Stakes, the Haddock Maiden Stakes and the Salmon Selling Stakes - salmon steaks, surely? - all run last week at Lingfield.

Whilst generally believing that horse racing is a game for earthenware vessels from which coffee is drunk, the column has of late been scouring the cards for the imminent flat debut of Edward Boynton, 48-year-old co-owner of the Nags Head, appropriately, at Pickhill, near Thirsk.

Last week's races alone included the Sulky Maiden Stakes, the Beer Can's Birthday Novices Chase, the National Peanut Butter Handicap Chase, the Eskimo Pie Maidens Only Novices Hurdle and the Betting Ring is a Tax Free Zone Novices Chase (Class D) at Warwick.

There were races dedicated to Cosi fan Tutte and Maria von Trapp, the Dukes of Hazzard, the Fall of Khartoum, Lord Byron, Sam Cooke, Les Miserables (whoever he is) and to St Francis de Sales Day Handicap Hurdle.

St Francis de Sales, memory suggests, is the patron saint of journalists. Some might say that he had handicap and hurdle enough. Whatever happened to the good old two o'clock at Catterick?

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