Unsung hero

THE lady of the house once again being absent – regular readers may regard that intro with a certain incredulity – I am faced with a 9.5-mile walk to the 11 o’clock service at St Mary’s, Eryholme. A crow with a reliable satnav might manage it in six.

The ditches are overflowing, the day dreich. Though there are mud Samaritans – those thoughtful drivers who pass by on the other side, in order not to soak the poor pedestrian – there are no good ‘uns.

On the approach to Eryholme, a swollen ford crosses the road. Since there’s no footbridge, it may not be supposed a ford popular. Beyond it are signs urging “Try your brakes.”

They’re working. I’m slowing down markedly. With cold feet but steaming jacket, St Mary’s is reached five minutes before the service is due to begin.

Eryholme’s a few miles south of Darlington, an out-of-the-way hamlet with an estimated population of 64 on the Yorkshire bank of the twisting Tees. Since the York to Newcastle turnpike once ran through it, the road may have been pretty discursive, too..

The school closed in 1935, the shop yet earlier. Even the parish pump’s dried up. (The pump was known as the White Heifer, it’s recalled, though when Eryholme lads supposed that they were just popping down the White Heifer, the only ale was Adam’s.) St Mary’s remains, its happy survival due in very considerable part these past 40 years to the efforts of Mr Bill Carvey, who became treasurer in 1969 and churchwarden 12 years later.

SUNDAY’S special service is to mark his retirement, and his move to Northallerton with his wife, Sheila, though they still never miss a service at Eryholme. “I greatly hope,” says Bill, “that this church will be here a very long time after I’ve gone.”

Though largely Victorian, the church offers much evidence of Saxon settlement. An earlier building, it’s said, burned down – with many villagers locked inside it – when marauding Vikings sailed up the then-tidal Tees.

Local legend has it that they mistook the longship prows for the head of the fearsome Sockburn worm, said to roam those parts – like its Lambton cousin to the north – in search of bits of news.

A goodly number are gathered around the back of the church, awaiting the arrival of the Rev Alan Glasby whose patch – with the help of two colleagues – includes another 12 churches.

A plaque on the organ records the incumbency from 1935-51 of the Rev E D Heath, who had Eryholme all to himself. Times change.

Among those present is the magnificent Mr Charlie Walker, known to Backtrack column readers as the Demon Donkey Dropper of Eryholme and a mainstay of the village cricket club for half a century.

Charlie, a turkey farmer, says they have to talk before the service. “We haven’t seen one another for two weeks, have we.”

IT gets off to a slightly chaotic start, the hymn numbers all wrong. Mr Glasby recalls the Morecambe and Wise moment in which Eric’s talking with Andre Previn – “you remember, Andrew Preview” – about Grieg’s piano concerto.

“All the right notes but maybe not quite in the right order.”

Lines uncrossed – “You’ll miss this when you go to a nice organised church in Northallerton,” says Mr Glasby – we sing good old favourites like O God Our Help in Ages Past and Come Let Us Join Our Cheerful Songs, follow the 1662 Prayer Book service, hear a short, Advent-themed sermon.

“I wonder how many times Bill has felt like a voice crying out in the wilderness. Once or twice, I’m sure,”

says Mr Glasby.

Bill and Sheila have chosen the hymns, receive an elegant glass vase with an engraving of St Mary’s and some flowers to fill it.

Sir Mark Wrightson – financier, barrister and master of much that he surveys either side of the Tees – praises Bill’s quiet devotion, hails an unsung hero, says that he’ll be “sorely missed.”

The real reason he’s gone to Northallerton, says Sir Mark, is to be closer to breakfast at Sam Turner’s country store. Messrs Turner will doubtless be grateful for the free plug.

Bill, coming up 80, is more concerned about what would happen if he could no longer drive. He’s enjoyed the service. “It’s a lovely church, everyone in the village is willing to help and I’ll miss it very much.

“I’m pleased everything went as normal, normal for Eryholme that is.

It’s about Eryholme working things out differently, but they always turn out right in the end, and that’s the way it should be.”

THE Wrightson family have been in Neasham, on the Durham bank of the river, since at least 1485. At one time, says Sir Mark, the Darlington telephone book had more Wrightsons than the London directory had – though not in 1485.

The private bridge linking the Neasham and Eryholme estates marked its centenary this year, a planned party postponed when Sir Mark broke his leg.

“A silly accident,” he says when pressed, though it’s whispered that it was larking about on a mobility scooter which paradoxically ensured his immobility.

Sir Mark also recalls, 20 years or so ago, when the Rhine was in imminent danger of flooding half of Holland and the Echo’s front page was chiefly occupied by a picture of Charlie Walker and the flood which swept away Eryholme cricket pitch.

“I’ve dined out on that one for years,” he says, prudently adding that he thought the editorial judgement entirely justified.

Afterwards, further evidence of Eryholme’s community spirit, most of the village appears to gather up the road for an enjoyable lunch.

Some, it’s reckoned, will stay all afternoon.

Things to talk about. The Demon, bless him, drops me home.