THE late Harry Hardy was our Trimdons correspondent, penny a line. It’s he who is credited with the story of Unicorn, the oneeared rabbit, perhaps otherwise known as Lug’s Bunny.

Unicorn was bred in the Eighties by James Lister, of Trimdon Grange.

Not only did the poor crittur only have one ear, but the most perfunctory aural examination would have revealed it to be in the middle of his head. A most singular occurrence, as Mr Sherlock Holmes might almost have observed.

The story made the local papers at the time, appears again in a new book by Paul Screeton, a man familiar with the weird if not necessarily the one-eared.

Paul’s hard to categorise, a folklore unto himself. Now 65, he was deputy chief sub-editor of the Hartlepool Mail until 15 years ago when he saw a vision of Margaret Clitherow, York’s favourite saint, urging him to “Be Yourself”.

Being himself, he concluded, had little to do with subbing on a local newspaper. Mail menopause, he quit to concentrate on explaining the inexplicable, and on writing books.

We’ve told his story before, might have headed it The Surreal Thing.

There was a fascinating book on railway folklore – not least the supposed existence of a great steam reserve beneath some Arthurian hill – another on urban myths that majored on Mr Mandelson’s mushy peas.

There was also the story of the chap in the Horden Hotel who swallowed a domino – party piece, apparently – but who three months later had to head double quick for Hartlepool General when the thing continued to prove indigestible.

Knocking copy, that made the Mail, too – not least when operating theatre staff organised a sweepstake to guess what number it was.

Though the story may appear almost as hard to swallow as the domino, the author avows its authenticity.

His twelfth book’s an anthology, beginning with the piece he wrote for the Mail while still in the sixthform seeking to debunk the notion of Roman civilisation. “Everyone talks of how they changed Britain; really all they did was slaughter us.”

The head wasn’t very happy, the Latin master banged on ad nauseam.

So we meet on Tuesday for another couple of beers, Paul understandably anxious to sell a few books though accepting that he’s never going to make his fortune.

He’d seen his first flying saucer as a 12-year-old, at Redmire, in Wensleydale – “I knew it wasn’t a seagull, I was a Hartlepool lad, I knew seagulls”

– has frequently thereafter pondered what might be termed unknown quantities.

The book has 93,000 words, 290 pages, myriad threads, no inhibitions whatsoever.

• I Fort the Lore by Paul Screeton is published by the Centre for Fortean Zoology (£12.95) and available on Amazon.

DOUG Hardy, whom once we described as a railwayman by association – he spent much of his working life on station bookstalls – looks in with his own latest book, the fourth.

“Steam to and from the Yorkshire Coast” proves just about all that it says on the nameplate, mostly in the Scarborough and Whitby areas, but with some misty-eyed diversions elsewhere.

There’s even a picture of Effie, one of the little Think-I-Cans on the Saltburn miniature railway, vigorously proclaiming all that they say about good stuff.

Mostly they’re Doug’s own images, and since a picture’s worth 1,000 words, the rest of the book is little more than informative captions.

Many of the locos reflect the railways’ deference to nobility – Princess Elizabeth, the Great Marquess, Duchess of Sutherland. In such company, the great Sir Nigel may almost feel outranked.

Dear old 62005, unnamed except when on West Highland duty, makes several appearances, too – and, we hear, is about to return to action.

In truth, this is only the half of it.

A second book covering Humberside and East Yorkshire will appear soon.

􀁧 The book costs £5.99, plus postage, from Doug Hardy at 19 Alfred Street, Darlington DL1 2JD.

Remember Father’s Day.

RAY Thompson’s also going into print, a first venture at 79, about the 800-year history of the Healeyfield lead mine, in Castleside, near Consett. As if to add lustre, they took an awful lot of silver out of there, too.

Ray, a former shop steward at Consett Steelworks – they called him Red Ray – lives in Castleside, alongside the A68. We’d written of him a couple of years back, when he’d given a talk in nearby Satley called “Twoand- a-half Local Heroes”.

One was James Fawcett, a son of Satley who could speak 14 languages at the age of 13, 33 by he was 25 and became aide-de-camp to Lord Kitchener.

Another was Rex Warneford VC, the first man to shoot down a Zeppelin. The third was Tommy Raw, cattle thief. “He was a hero to half the locals, but he’d steal from anyone.

I could hardly call it Three Local Heroes,” said Ray. If ever there were a film about Tommy Raw, said the Satley folk, the part should be played by Mel Gibson.

Ray has been fascinated by Healeyfeld since talking to old miners as a young un. Literally going underground, he’s explored a quarter of a mile inside – the first person into the mine, he supposes, since it closed in 1891. Though he’s taken expert geological advice, the book’s full of human stories, too – “a bit like K C Dunham meets Catherine Cookson if I may include myself in such exalted company.”

Publication’s sorted; they only await the foreword. I’ll do it as soon as I can.