Loving Shepherd?

Secondly, a plea to Colin Theakston, a former photographic department colleague believed to be in Barnard Castle, but frustratingly out of range.

A few of us will be having a beer with Charlie in the Mowden at 1pm today. It would be very god to see you; I might even stand the beer.

DAVID Walsh, among the column’s most esteemed – and most regular – correspondents, finds himself subject of a mysterious but rather flattering video on YouTube.

Though his admirers remain secret – “there seems to have been more than one politician recently who has been stalked or bugged on Teesside” – the lad admits to being “quite chuffed”.

Heavyweight former leader of Redcar and Cleveland borough council, he is portrayed as everything from Henry VIII to Superman.

Several overflowing plates of food and one or two pints of beer also feature.

Best of all, the backing track is “You’re the best” by someone called Joe “Bean” Eposito.

David insists he’s stumped. “Unlike some po-faced local politicians I could name, I know that if you dish it out, you have to take it – and gracefully.

“The clip has been well done, seems to imply that I like a pie and a pint and that, like other distinguished people in the community, I use buses. What heresy.”

He goes further. If the admiration society members care to reveal themselves, there’ll be a pint and a parmo at a pub of David’s choice.

JOHN Briggs in Darlington draws attention to the list of 3,000 new words acceptable in Scrabble, including qin (a Chinese zither), inbox, vlog (video blogging), innit (innit?) and grrl – “definition to be confirmed” but particularly useful because it has no vowels. The longest vowel-free word still has six letters and is in everyday use.

Readers are invited to identify it before reaching the foot of the column.

ERIC Jackson was Mayor of Darlington 40 years ago, at 39 the town’s youngest-ever first citizen at the time.

His son Martyn, one of those agreeable people who always seems to have a bag of sweeties about his person, sends the accounts for the mayor’s ball – 347 tickets at 35 shillings each, 11 guests.

Payments include 358 dinners at 21/6d a head, £3 for an ad in the Echo, 4/7d for raffle tickets and £2 11 1s for cigars for the mayor’s guests.

There’s also a list of donations, ranging from a couple of ten bobs to two guineas from John Smith’s brewery, a guinea from Whessoe – among the town’s biggest employers – and five guineas from the wonderful Lady Starmer.

Eric himself was a Labour councillor, expelled from the Party shortly after his term of office ended for supporting the so-called Shepherd Plan for the retail rebirth of the town centre.

Shepherd Construction was among the donors: a measly three guineas. Eric paid the price.

HABITUALLY in error, last week’s column confessed a persistent misuse of the word “presently” when “currently” was intended. “Presently”

means soon; “currently” means now.

It struck a chord with Jon Glenn, headmaster of Terrington Hall preparatory school near York, who recalled similar problems after a move to Cornwall.

“We arrived, bought a fridge and waited for it to be delivered, as we’d been told it would be with us directly.”

After a week, limited to red wine and warm beer, Jon rang the shop, was told that the refrigerator would, indeed, be with him directly and enquired when “directly” might be.

Early the following month, they said.

He sought enlightenment from a new colleague. “Dreckly” in local patois was a bit like manana, Jon was told – and in Cornwall, manana has implications of indecent haste.

FURTHER reproof of the pudding: noting a bit of doorstepping by the Foreign Secretary, last week’s column said that at the royal wedding Ffion Hague, who has a cracked bone in her leg, was pushed by a sergeant major of the Royal Artillery. Not so, says the Rev David Kinch in Crook, the picture – above – clearly shows the uniform of the Scots Guards. “As the son of a Scots Guardsman and after 30 years in the Royal Army Chaplains’ Department, I know of what I speak.”

THOSE with military memories may also be interested in a “VIP contributors’ day” being staged at Catterick for those supporting a sponsored Pennine Way run by the bomb disposal boys. The suggested donation is £50 including “authentic” Army food – “£49.50 without”.

AMID all the vacancies for clergy, the situations vacant column in the Church Times carries an ad for a director of the Amos Trust.

This should probably not be confused with “Trust Amos”, which may occasionally betray a note of asperity.

The Trust was formed in 1985, said in the ad to be “a dynamic human rights organisation forging close partnerships with inspirational communities”.

It appears not to have been started by anyone of that name, but rather to be based on a verse from the greatest of Old Testament prophets: “Let justice roll down like a river, and right living like an ever flowing stream.” (Amos 24:5.) It sounds like the family watchword.

Perhaps I should apply.

THE previous week’s Church Times carried a letter from George Hepburn, warden of the Shepherds Dene Retreat House at Riding Mill, in the Tyne Valley.

In a “controlled test”, he insists, they variously wrapped apples in the retreat house potting shed in copies of the Church Times, the Guardian and the Hexham Courant.

“Those wrapped in lesser journals were devoured by the mice while those wrapped in the Church Times were enjoyed by our guests during Holy Week.”

Mr Hepburn invites explanations.

Could it be, he wonders, that the retreat house mice are just not interested in the proceedings of the Church of England?

MALCOLM Conway, an apprentice at Doncaster locomotive works in the 1950s. adds to the recent correspondence on scrapped A4s, regrets that more weren’t saved but counsels against too many tears. Many components had worn out and been replaced, boilers put into other engines. “After many years and several general repairs, the only parts from the original loco were probably the nameplates.”

…and finally the Reverend Dr Mel Gray, seeks to commend B&Q’s policy of employing those of (shall we say) more mature years but tells the cautionary tale of Fred, a good worker, but a man who was incorrigibly late.

Sometimes it was five minutes, sometimes ten or 15. Finally the boss called him in, told him what a good job he was doing but that his timekeeping was becoming problematical.

“I know you were a member of the armed forces,” he adds. “What did they say if you arrived late, there?”

The older chap raises himself to his full height. “They said ‘Good morning, Admiral, may I get you a cup of coffee, Sir.”

Usual rhythm, the column returns next week.