The two-blue line grows thinner yet; greyer, too. Nearly every time that Britain's greatest amateur football team holds its now-annual reunion, one or two have been promoted - as the Salvationists would say - to glory.

Thus when the Bishop Auckland boys once again met at the town's golf club to recall the fabulous 50s, glasses were first raised to absent friends, to Warren Bradley and to Bobby Davison, both of whom died recently.

Warren was the only man to win amateur and full England caps in the same season. Bobby, bless him, only won one amateur international cap but scored a century for North Bitchburn, which is very nearly as good.

Some still fetch their cuttings, once near-permanent fixtures in the Sports Despatch. Half a century later, happily, most remain in the pink. "We'd probably do it more often," said Derek Lewin, "but we tell the same stories every time."

There was Derek, capped five times, former teacher and fellow international Dave Marshall, now 80, Corbett Cresswell, impassable at centre-half and centre-forward Ray Oliver, former Cullercoats lifeboatman and as irresistible as a force ten westerly.

There was laid-back Len Langford, retired Chester-le-Street dentist Bob Thursby - the most capped of them all - and Bert Childs, left back in the 1957 Amateur Cup final and over for the occasion from Nice.

The photographer wanted them outside, a play-it-again picture. Corbett, jocularly, wondered about the fee.

"Typical Bishop player," someone said.

"Typical bloody accountant," said someone else.

Bob Thursby surveyed them out on the practice green - still best of friends, still putting themselves about, still a pretty canny team. "There's a lot of caps out there but there should have been an awful lot more," he said.

The FA had a bias against the North-East, everyone knew that. The biggest sin of all, said Bob, was that there was never a cap for Jimmy Nimmins, the fiercely ferrous Consett steelworker who'd put in a morning shift at the furnaces before calling, it's said, for a couple of pre-match liveners at the Sportsman.

Bob was anxious to shoot down that old canard - "It was the Eden Theatre Bar" he said - and also recalled the time in the dressing room when Jimmy's arm had been red raw, molten metal having fallen onto it that morning.

"What on earth did you do?" asked Bob.

"Brushed it off again," said Jimmy.

Bert Childs, a Liverpudlian, who married a Frenchwoman - "she'd put up with Liverpool for 25 years, so I thought in only fair to go and live in France when I retired," - would meet Derek Lewin and inimitable goalkeeper Harry Sharratt at Preston railway station every Friday tea time.

"Derek had a car, which was quite posh in those days, an MG Magnette." Mind, added Bert, Derek always was quite posh.

Great players if not necessarily good amateurs, they'd drive over the Pennines to Bishop, have a "quiet" dinner in their hotel, play the following afternoon and then have a party at June Laverick's - the future actress who married comedian Dickie Henderson - before returning on Sunday morning.

Bert, never on a losing side at Bishop Auckland, was paid £8 plus expenses. Corbett, he reckoned was on £12. "Corbett couldn't turn pro," said Bert, "he'd have had to pay tax."

He also recalled that he'd signed while injured, persuaded to play in a friendly against the British police in order to be qualified for the Amateur Cup.

"I just stood on the wing the whole game," said Bert.

"I bet you still got your £8," said Bob Thursby.

Memories as bright burnished as the old silver pot itself, they recalled the Wembley dressing rooms - "terrible," said Bob, "not half as good as Sunderland's" - recalled how they'd play on six inches of snow so long as someone cleared the lines, recalled the magnificent Seamus O'Connell, long in Spain.

Seamus, the last registered amateur to win a top division champions' medal - Chelsea, 1955 - was reckoned a bit of a star off the field, too.

Derek Lewin remembered a party at a smart London address at which O'Connell, emerging from the shower, had strolled naked through the throng.

A society lady looked at him with interest. "Looking like that," she said, "you should trot."

There, too, was Alan Adamthwaite - Crook lad, originally - who'd written a book about the Bishops; glory years and has now turned to painting them. Eventually, he hopes, the paintings will hang in the long-anticipated new stadium.

There was a picture of the victorious 1939 Amateur Cup final against Willington - "Many people thought that but for Adolf Hitler the Bishops would have held the cup for quite a efw years," said Alan - another of the 4-2 FA Cup win against Crystal Palace after being 2-1 down, a third of Ray Oliver outjumping Dexter Adams, of Hendon.

Ray approved. "Mind," he said, "I was higher off the ground than that."

They had lunch, they had dinner, they talked into the evening and vowed to be back again next year. Derek Lewin addressed them with brotherly affection. There were, he said, to be no excuses whatsoever.

Encountered near the nineteenth hole, newsagent and man about Bishop Auckland Graham Sheldon - "up at five o'clock this morning," he protests - tells the story of his mate Jack Ord, at Durham railway station with his grandson last Monday to watch the trains go by.

They're having a coffee, the bairn chatting excitedly about Durham's win at Lord's the day previously, when a stranger on the next table asks if he's interested in cricket.

Conversation continues. The little lad says he wasn't at the match, the stranger admits that he was. It's then that Jack begins to realise to whom they're talking. "You weren't playing were you?" He says.

Dale Benkenstein, the Durham skipper, admits that he did have some part in the proceedings. "They talked for ages," says Graham. "What a wonderful change from those £100,000 a week footballers who wouldn't give you the time of day."

Another bit of golf club gossip: though having a bit of a struggle at the moment, Sir Bobby Robson - as magnificent as he is wholly without side - is clearly determined to enjoy himself. He's bought his first Rolls Royce. "Just a little one," it's explained. The ever-loyal Elsie drives.

Blow me, but who should gust into the golf club as the column is making to leave but former Middlesbrough centre-half and self-made sports shop millionaire Bill Gates, mentioned in the Echo only last week.

It was a bit of a "small earthquake, no one hurt" story. He hadn't been in the Cayman Islands, his permanent home, when Hurricane Dean hit. "We heard it was coming and went to Canada out of the way," says Bill, Ferryhill lad originally.

Now 63, he only took up golf three years ago. "I thought it would be quite easy after football, but just can't get the hang of it," he admits.

His next trip's by train to China, rail travel one of wife Judith's passions. "I'm not really keen on being cooped up all that time, but she goes with me to watch insects in the Brazilian rain forest, so it's the least I can do," he says.

"I suppose it's better than a slow boat to China, anyway."

Thereafter to Crook Town v Whickham, some confusion over kick-off time of the Friday evening fixture. Crook chairman Stephen Buddle has unsuccessfully been trying to ring Kieron Bennett, the secretary, who's been on holiday in the Dominican Republic. Maybe Hurricane Dean's got hold of him, an' all, muses Steve. "Or maybe," adds the chairman, "he's just switched off his phone.

AND FINALLY...

Friday's column sought the identity of ten Football League or Scottish League clubs whose full name begins and ends with the same letter. Try Alloa, Aston Villa, Celtic, Charlton Athletic, Dundee United, East Fife, East Stirlingshire, Kilmarnock, Liverpool and Northampton Town.

One today from the Bishops' reunion: if Seamus O'Connell was the last registered amateur to win a first division championship medal, who was the last amateur to claim an FA Cup winner's medal?

Just for the fun of it, the column returns on Friday.