Mmmmmmother's pride

Mother's pride, she beamed beatifically, renewed praises offered to St Michael.

The At Your Service column, appropriately, was at St Mary's Anglican church in Wycliffe - set scenically on the south bank of the Tees, south-east of Barnard Castle - where beforehand we pondered the origin of the phrase "Mum's the word".

Among older readers, at any rate, it will be remembered from the Second World War posters "Be like Dad: keep Mum" and the wonderful "Keep mum, she's not so dumb."

The etymology is surprisingly simple. "Mmmm" is the sound when the lips are pressed tightly together - "especially", says the Oxford English, "as an indication of inability or unwillingness to speak."

It may, indeed, be the only sound possible in such circumstances. "The word is one of the few that we can say for certain is onomatopoeic," says a website.

"Plodge", that most satisfying expression of North-Eastern onomatopoiesis, is undoubtedly the best.

Wycliffe is in an ecclesiastical parish that also includes the village of Barningham, on the other side of the A66. The parish magazine not only carries the endlessly intriguing observation "Always remember you're unique: just like everybody else" but a report of the Valentine's Day meeting of Barningham Women's Institute.

They had Marion Watson perform the dance of the seven veils. It's probably those Rylstone lasses to blame: the WI ready for take-off.

Mrs Watson, in truth, is an Arabian dancer in much demand - as tasteful as jam, and Jerusalem. The WI columns of the Darlington & Stockton Times sway to her colourful performances across the countryside.

The terpsichord was first struck in the biblical story of John the Baptist, when Herodias's daughter's dancing so entranced Herod that he promised Herodias anything - and the poor Baptist paid with his head.

It wasn't until 1897, however, that Oscar Wilde - he who supposed that he could resist everything except temptation - introduced the notion of the seven veils, and the name of Salome.

Though the dance of the seven veils became associated with the seedier end of the scene, professionals like Mrs Watson - and Rita Hayworth and Stewart Granger in the 1953 film Salome - leave rather more to the imagination.

Uncovered, the D&S Times report also adds that the Barningham ladies tried it for themselves. "The results," it adds, "were most amusing."

However trendy the WI, however Wythit the image, the competitions remain largely unchanging - though "A limerick on hypnotherapy" offered interesting possibilities involving a young woman from France...

The dear old D&S occasionally offers timeless little gems, too. "Ursula gave an unusual item of interest," reported Eaglescliffe WI, "a cutting from Country Life which changed our perception of stoats"

At Marske-in-Swaledale they had bingo. "Few of our members had played, though we discovered that one member knew most of the jargon."

Recently contested competitions include a pretty cream jug, a wedding hat, a floral button hole, an animal ornament and that old favourite, an amusing newspaper article.

Not one of these, obviously.

The most popular of late appears to have been the number of different items in a matchbox. Sadly, none of the reports lists how many the Pioneering winner was able to accommodate. WI or worldwide, anyone know the record?

Before leaving Oscar Wilde and matters maternal, we turn to his observation in The Importance of Being Earnest: "All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy. No man does. That's his." What on earth was the old rogue on about?

the region still holding its breath, Frank Robinson in Thornaby-on-Tees is the latest to offer a cure for the hiccups. "I get the victim to hold his or her hands as high as possible in the air whilst sipping from a glass of water. I've never known a failure."

Frank also reckons that Cassop Blanca and Coxhoe Brava are pretty good places to visit, while John Heslop in Durham swears that he attended Woodhouse Close school in Bishop Auckland with Albert Ross.

"I also had a couple of dates as a student with Kathryn Louise Drewer-Trump, but she had to go because I couldn't beat her at cards."

flue bug, last week's column wondered what was so lucky about having a chimney sweep at the wedding.

John Briggs in Darlington suggests that the custom is uniquely British and dates back to the time of George III, when the king's horse was attacked by a dog as he rode in procession. "A man ran out of the crowd, regained control of the horse and quickly disappeared again."

Anxious to reward the man who'd saved his life - where there's muck there's money - the monarch could discover only that he was a chimney sweep. From that day onwards, he decreed, all sweeps would be considered lucky. The Georgians hadn't invented smokeless zones.

No luck of the Irish, alas, for the crowd who turned up for the St Patrick's night celebrations at the Gala Theatre in Durham. Half way through, reports a Gadspy a little belatedly, the bar ran out of Guinness.

...and finally, Shildon lad John Newbold issues a cry from the heart - or, more accurately, the stomach. Whatever happened, he asks, to the saveloy?

"Years ago in Darlington I'd call at Zissler's, up the road from the Midland Bank, where they were delicious, hot or cold. I'd buy a pound or two and it wasn't unknown for them to be eaten before I got home."

When Zissler's in Bondgate closed, he tried Zissler's in Skinnergate - "not quite the same" - and when that butchery business also succumbed, the real saveloy search began.

"Newbould's are the closest I've found, but most are just common sausage meat in a smoked skin and shouldn't be allowed to call themselves saveloys."

John, who also notes that penny ducks now cost more than ten bob, would much welcome information on the real thing. We may have something for him to get his teeth into when the column returns in two weeks: until then, mum's the word.

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