Stitches in time

FREDDIE BRITTON was 22 when he came off his motorbike, spent six months in hospital up to the oxters in plaster, relieved the monotony by singing and by learning embroidery. It was 1947.

His singing was so good – most notably the twilight rendition of The Old Rugged Cross, it’s recalled – that the ward sister would throw open the doors, so that the rest of the hospital might be entertained.

His early embroidery must have been pretty accomplished, too, autographed by the glamorous actress Valerie Hobson, only 30 at the time, when she came visiting the patients.

Miss Hobson was then married to the film producer Sir Anthony Havelock- Allan, one of the Havelock- Allans from Blackwell Grange, Darlington, though they were divorced in 1952. Four years later, she married Mr John Profumo, who was to become even better known, if not always for the right reasons.

Though that’s all more or less irrelevant, as might hereabouts be expected, Freddie Britton eventually came out of hospital, retrained as a cobbler, sings – and embroiders – still.

“Delightful chap,” they said last Sunday at Lynesack parish church in west Durham, when his work was on show as part of the parish’s Harvest of Talents weekend. Great idea, great morning.

LYNESACK embraces the villages of Butterknowle – where Freddie Britton still lives – Copley, Woodland and possibly one or two yet smaller pinpricks on the Ordnance Survey. St John’s church was consecrated in 1847.

We’d been there a couple of times before, once for the 150th anniversary and again for the 20th anniversary of the handbell ringers, a wonderfully harmonious group with a rich repertoire.

“We’re not nearly as serious as we look,” someone had said. “It’s just that we have to concentrate so hard.”

There’d also been a joke in the parish magazine about the difference between a terrorist and an organist, the answer being that you can negotiate with a terrorist. Many a vicar may say Amen to that.

The idea for the Harvest of Talent had arisen at a bell-ringing session at Barbara Scott’s, she who has knitted a re-enactment of The Last Supper that looks good enough to eat.

“Basically, we just wondered what other skills there were in the parish and then thought we’d tie it in with the harvest,” says Joan Simpson.

“When I got here on Friday afternoon I wondered how we’d get it all into the church.”

At the back they’re working on a proggy – or proddy, or clippy, or hooky – mat, the sort of thing that grandma made from old clothes.

“I wouldn’t take your jacket off, you may never see it again,” says Allen Armstrong, a churchwarden whom once we’d inadvertently described as Alien Armstrong and which, other cheek, he forgave.

He’s 75, just completed the Great North Run in three hours – “same time as last year, and 40 minutes to get to the start” – appears to be a man forever dancing.

A music machine plays “Who’s that team they call the Arsenal.”

That’s the tune, anyway.

There are charming little pictures by the school kids, more serious art by John Campbell who has the garage in Copley, a display by Copley weather station which automatically sends data to the Met Office every five minutes.

There’s craftwork, needlework, fretwork and – of course – there’s jam making, preserves, baking. Santa Claus gets in there somewhere, too.

The harvest is plentiful, indeed.

THE 11am family service is led by Emma Johnson, 27-year-old curate in the west Durham parishes, reckoned a breath of fresh air even in those bracing parts, Jane Grieve, the parish priest, sits at the back. Ordained only eight years ago, she is to be made a canon of Durham Cathedral that afternoon.

Eight years may be a latter-day record.

Jane has also produced a list of the coming week’s activities, which show the parish to be lively indeed.

The inclusion of a Lent lunch may be a little premature, however.

“I blame my typewriter,” says Jane.

Though we sing We Plough the Fields and Scatter – the line about the wind and waves obeying him changed to “He fills the earth with beauty” – the bairns have written a harvest hymn of their own, to the tune of London Bridge is Falling Down.

Thank you Lord for sun and rain,

corn and grain, Reverend Jane

Thank you Lord I’m not in pain.

Thank you Jesus

Multi-talented herself, Emma accompanies on piano but comes a little adrift when she tries to organise singing in the round. The round, it has to be said, is a little ragged about the edges.

The pews hold a number of coloured pens and bits of paper though, happily, they prove not to be for drawing. I can only draw steam engines. It might not be considered appropriate. Instead, Emma essays word search games – “You don’t realise it, but I’m Carol Vorderman” – and other fun activities.

Her sermon’s serious. Eighty per cent of the world has to live on less than £6 a day; 2.2 billion children live in poverty. “There’s one thing we can do to make this world a better place, and that’s to share.”

The little uns bring their harvest gifts to the front, the offering goes to Durham’s linked diocese in Lesotho.

Afterwards, the adults set about the baking while the kids play conkers outside.

It’s a bright, encouraging, invigorating autumn morning in County Durham. Hobson’s choice or otherwise, there may be nowhere you’d rather be.