From war hero to basket case

Some way short of the crime of the century - though a hanging basket offence, beyond doubt - Robert Redvers Garside, aged 23 and described as a mortgage advisor, appeared before Darlington magistrates last week after damaging flower tubs.

It was the defendant's middle name, not the basket case, which caught the eye of Martin Birtle, in Billingham.

It's probably pronounced "Reevers", says Martin - as in Border reivers, perhaps, but certainly as in General Sir Redvers Buller VC - a name passed with military precision down the family tree.

An old Etonian, Redvers Buller was born in Crediton, Devon, won the VC during the Zulu War and, though his later career was controversial - there were those who knew him as "Reverse Buller" - enjoyed the rare distinction of having a statue erected in his honour while still alive.

It was in Exeter and still it proved contentious - Buller, and thus his horse, had their backs turned on Crediton.

Martin Birtle, who has a portrait of Buller on the wall at home - "we've grown quite fond of the old boy" - worked in the 1970s in the pensions department of British Steel on Teesside.

Claimants had forenames like Redvers and Buller and Garnett and Wolseley, after another Boer War general. "That jolly old cove Kitchener had his namesakes, too."

He also recalls that Haig Williamson played cricket for Norton for many years after the Second World War.

Many other military monikers may have been name dropped down the generations. Martin fears, however, that Redvers Buller would have had poor Garside in the guardhouse.

"Who'd have thought that his namesake would end up damaging hanging baskets."

Then there was Charles Verdun Browne, named after the bloodiest and longest of all battles and looking like he'd been through a few skirmishes himself.

Verdun was fought between France and Germany between February 19 and December 21, 1916, the number of casualties - dead, wounded and missing - put at 700,000. Charlie, a kindly chap, was chief reporter at the Evening Gazette's office in Bishop Auckland.

Harry Stott, his opposite number in the Northern Despatch branch office, couldn't boast a middle name at all and so was classically known as Harrystottle, instead.

Charlie, who at one time kept the Dog and Gun in Etherley, was himself very partial to a drink and to a packet of Capstan. One evening while driving to a meeting of Crook and Willington Urban District Council, he turned his car onto its roof at High Grange.

Charlie and Anne Brunskill, his passenger and fellow reporter, were trapped, petrol seeping onto the road. Charlie's reaction was immediate: "Pass me those cigarettes and my lighter," he asked Anne.

Her reply was more considered. "You'll blow us both to kingdom come," she said.

Charlie, bless him, has long since headed that way. Anne, and her 91-year-old mum in Gainford, happily live to tell the tale.

It's not high noon but 9.30am when David Walsh rings from Bourn- emouth railway stations, returning with colleagues from the Labour Party conference.

Remembering the column's recent notes on improbable "home town" claims - Oldham boasts proudly to be home of the tubular bandage - David's puzzled.

"The station's hung with banners claiming that Bournemouth's home of LV," he reports. "We've had a chat and can only assume it's Luncheon Vouchers. It's weird how the world's being rebranded."

Too true. Luncheon Vouchers were the idea of John Hack in 1954, half-a-crown a time. While no longer everyone's cup of tea, they're still used by 100,000 employees every day. They have nothing at all, however, to do with Bournemouth.

LV - suffixed by a natty little equals sign - is the new identity of the 164-year-old Liverpool Victoria Friendly Society, which does have its headquarters on the Dorset coast.

They underwent a major (and doubtless very expensive) re-branding exercise in March this year. "Our brand name needed to evolve to make it relevant to society today," they say, trendily.

"Our new-look brand name aims to present us in a more modern and vibrant way." The equals sign, adds the website, is "a contemporary expression of our mutuality".

The re-branding exercise, alas, may not yet have burned itself upon the public consciousness. Half the Labour Party appears to believe that there really is such a thing as a free lunch after all.

Last week's note on the school attendance award winners who failed to turn up for the presentation reminded Barry Wood - now in Edmondsley, near Durham - of happy days at Horden secondary modern.

His brother was there in the early 1950s when just one lad was still unable to read and write - a failing compensated by his impeccable attendance record.

They gave him a prize, too.

"You guessed it," says Barry, "it was a book."

Bill Griffiths' funeral at Sunderland crematorium last Wednesday passed without the attendance of his friend and fellow dialect expert Vic Wood. It wasn't for want of trying.

Vic lives in Yearby, near Redcar, got directions via the internet - "Go through five roundabouts on the A1080" - and at the fifth found the road was closed and no diversion signs.

Sunderland folk tried vainly to help. "I know where it is," said one chap, "but I've no idea how you get to it from here."

Once he'd given up on the late, late show, Vic felt wryly amused. "Bill would have smiled at me getting into such fankle over something he would have considered quite unimportant."

Fankle? Well, it may be a Teesdale word, he supposes. His mum uses the phrase "in a raffle" to mean much the same thing. Fankless task, he's getting a sat-nav for his birthday.

Though it's the season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, John Heslop from Durham was still a bit surprised to find "pommygrants" on offer outside the Spar shop in Hawes last weekend.

"I suspect the store manager's Australian," says John, in the manner of a man who believes a pommygrant to be one of those £10 assisted passages so popular after the war. Why Pommy, anyway? A little etymological seed picking was suggested.

The popular notion that it's a Botany Bay acronym for Prisoner of Mother England may be discounted. John's sources, the column's divers dictionaries and DH Lawrence in 1923 all lean towards a yet more improbable explanation.

"Pomegranate" is a variation of Jimmy Grant, rhyming slang for immigrant. Like pomegranates, explains Lawrence, the immigrant English were said to have rosy red cheeks.

Pom and circumstance, others may know better.

WE mentioned last week how the operators of the Tyne ferry, between North and South Shields, had told intending passenger Tim Grimshaw that they'd fetch him from the pub when a problem with the boat was repaired.

Tim adds a PS. "It's a great service, just a five minute crossing, but they even got a telly when the World Cup was on. On the night it broke down I was the only passenger. They let me travel for free."

Clearly determined to have the last word in the column these days, John Briggs in Darlington offers the joke about Snow White returning home one evening to find the house destroyed by fire.

Frantic because she'd left the seven dwarves asleep inside, she searches frantically among the wreckage until she hears a faint cry. "Newcastle for the Premiership," it says. "Thank goodness," she says, "at least Dopey's still alive.