PELAW Grange Greyhound Stadium is at the top end of Chester-le-Street, alongside the East Coast main railway line and for years was the only dog track in the Good Beer Guide.

Last weekend they held a beer festival, a thoroughly enjoyable occasion with some outstanding ale. It would be wantonly optimistic, nonetheless, to suggest that there weren’t one or two bad bets.

The stadium is also celebrating a half century of ownership by the McKenna family, painter and decorator Joe McKenna and his wife Joyce having bought it from George Towers in 1965.

The Northern Echo:
ON TRACK: Stadium manager Jeff McKenna

To mark the milestone, Sky Sports will televise the August 11 meeting live. The McKenna family will sponsor another event, appropriately called the Stayers’ Trophy.

Jeff McKenna, the present manager, studied accountancy at Newcastle Poly, dropped out after a year – “it just wasn’t for me” – and returned to the family business.

Horses for courses, or whatever the canine equivalent? “It just gets in your blood,” says Jeff.

Until 2005 it was independent – the once-ubiquitous North-East flapping track – now it’s operated under the aegis of the Great Britain Greyhound Board. “The change was mainly about welfare and integrity,” says Jeff. “We wanted to show what we could do.

“We’re holding our own. It’s on the up, really. It’s very much a family night out, very much grass roots, a bit different from a night out at the pub.”

THE stadium was built in 1946, not the loveliest building architecturally, not even in Chester-le-Street. The Panorama Restaurant seems oddly akin to a 1960s Berni Inn, though without the black forest gateau.

We dined there last week on belly pork and chicken supreme, Pelaw Grange’s answer to the Prawn Sandwich Brigade. If not quite dog track virgins, we’d long forgotten what to do next.

Everyone’s greatly friendly, not least the roving young lad with the Tote ticket machine, a bit like a 1970s bus conductor. He’s awaiting his A-level results, hopes for a degree in 3D computer modelling.

All this appliance of science and some decrepit old duffers can’t even work out how to place a twopence ha’penny bet.

We wager on all ten races, £2 a time, so excited before the first that the ticket flutters to the ground. “What goes to the floor comes to the door,” says the 3D modeller – a bit of north Durham folk wisdom, presumably – and so, remarkably, it proves.

Rustic Tommo wins, the forecast pays out £12.50. Thereafter the evening is chiefly a form of flagellation, a sort of fifty shades of greyhound.

The place is quaint, quirky and convivial, perhaps 200 punters scattered around several bars and the Hot Favourite Bistro. There are pictures – obviously very old pictures – of Newcastle United winning the FA Cup, adverts for “natural” mating – “sensational, £400” – a glass case in which are displayed remedies like insecticidal shampoo, Green Rub and Recharge (for greyhounds).

Much promotes the Retired Greyhounds Trust – “a greyhound is for life, not just for racing.” Pelaw Grange is very hot on the Retired Greyhounds Trust.

Messrs Sullivan, Jefferson and Lewins – the three bookies – appear not greatly to be over-patronised. Nor for that matter, does the real ale bar. Though a Durham Camra banner hangs behind it, the Camra men appear not to be in shot.

All six beers are from the Water Mill Brewery, near Windermere, with doggy names like Collie Wobbles, Golden Retriever, A Bit’er Ruff and (get this) Shih Tzu Faced. Shih Tzu Faced is the strongest, 7 per cent abv, and thus to be avoided like distemper.

FEW others seem to have backed Rustic Tommo. A lady on the table behind is investing just £1 a race, loses on the first three and gets cross with the tail-end Charlie in the third. “Dozy bugger,” she shouts. The dog doesn’t respond.

In the second there’d been a runner – the term is loosely applied – called Storm Dotty, owned by the Skint Again Syndicate. It’s not hard to see why they’re impoverished. Though each race takes around 28 seconds, Storm Dotty is in danger of being overtaken by the critters in the third.

I also back a dog called Liffeyside Bolt, at 32 kilos a greyhound super-heavyweight. It runs like Billy Bunter in a 100-yard dash.

Brief hope is offered by Glengiblin McCoy, though at odds so short they might have co-starred with Snow White. Had Glengiblin McCoy been set against one of the trains out the back, the train would have been second. Though the circuit is level, it’s all downhill thereafter. If every dog has its day, this lot must be on the Martian calendar.

The lady behind us is now £7 down. “You know what they say about shooting the messenger,” she tells the 3D modeller.

Sharon and I between us invest £40 and end up £6 down. It’s been a very pleasant change. If this be going to the dogs, we shall have to do it more often.

Named and shamed - The ten greyhounds on which the column invested £2 apiece, and the reasons for their selection:

Rustic Tommo: My mate Dave Tomlinson, brother and pea pod image of the comedian Ricky Tomlinson, lives in the Cheshire sticks. Wins by a country mile.

Storm Dotty: In memory of Dorothy Howard, red-haired doyenne of the Darlington pub trade, who died a couple of years back. She might have run faster than the dog.

Short Price: Alan Price, who works at the Land Registry in Durham and is a regular on the North-East non-league football circuit, is about 5ft 4ins. Too tall an order.

Fog on the Tyne: Partly because it’s a nice song, partly because it’s owned by former champion trainer Harry Williams from Witton-le-Wear, just about the only greyhound man I ever knew. Mist again.

Glengiblin McCoy: Alec McCoy, PC 1321, was a 1960s poliss in Shildon who once let me off riding my dad’s bike without a light. First home, minuscule odds – the real McCoy, nonetheless.

Liffeyside Bolt: Usain Bolt’s running at the Olympic Stadium at almost the same moment. Liffeyside proves altogether more sluggish.

Balmoral Katie: Katie Banner, daughter of the late and lamented Voracious Vicar of Escomb, offered me a lift from the Scotch Corner bus stop just the day previously. The dog’s still waiting.

Glengiblin Cecil: The late Cecil Attwood OBE, lovely chap, was boss of Dufay Paints in Shildon. Though it’s been closed 30 years or so, the No 1 bus automaton still announces that it’s stopping at Dufay. Matt finish.

Jelly Kelly: A friend of that name whom we’re visiting in Teesdale the following morning is having a bit of a wobbly time just now. The greyhound’s no great shakes, either.

Pond Pandora: Another of Harry Williams’s. Memory suggests that all his best dogs were called Pond-something-or-other. Pond lifeless.