MEMORIES appears to have been lead astray, in the nicest possible way, by Kirby Sigston WI. Kirby Sigston is a delightfully hidden part of the world to the east of Northallerton, as we told in Memories 182.

WI members were asked to bring “something old” to a recent meeting for a competition, which was to be judged by Echo Memories.

We chose as the winner a rather curious four-verse poem which had been hanging in a little frame for nigh on 100 years in the homes of the Robinson family of Northallerton.

We, perhaps naively, thought that the poem was an example of Yorkshire dialect humour from a century or so ago.

Since the poem’s appearance in Memories 182, several people have been in touch to tell us we were wrong.

The poem is probably from the late 1890s, but it probably originates in north America rather than north Yorkshire. And it has six verses rather than the four we were shown.

The trouble is that the fifth verse contains an extremely naughty word, which some people will find offensive, and that the sixth verse contains some extremely naughty imagery, which some people may find amusing. So please skip verses four and five if you feel you might be offended...

When me prayers were poorly said,
Who tucked me in me widdle bed,
And spanked my ass till it was wed?
Me mudder

Who took me from me cosy cot
And put me on me ice cold pot,
And made me pee if I could not?
Me mudder

And when the morning light had come,
And in my crib I dribbled some,
Who wiped my tiny little bum?
Me mudder

Who would my hair so neatly part,
And hug me gently to her heart,
And sometimes squeeze me till I’d fart?
Me mudder

Who looked at me with eyebrows knit,
And nearly had a king-sized fit,
When in my Sunday clothes me shit?
Me Mudder.

When at night the bed did squeak,
Me raised me head to have a peek,
Who yelled at me to go to sleep?
Me Fadder.

QUICKLY moving on. No such difficulties at Newton Aycliffe WI this week where the winner of a similar competition was this lovely china mug inscribed “Peace”.

The front of the mug bears the victorious Allies’ flags and the date June 28, 1919 – the day that the Treaty of Versailles, which formally concluded what the mug calls “the Great World War”, was signed.

The Northern Echo:
Edwardian actress Maud Darling, from Darlington

At the bottom of the mug are the words: “Byers Green”.

The mug was brought in by Vivienne McKenna whose husband, Jim, has just inherited it.

It originally belonged to his relation, Edith Sowerby, who was born in Byers Green, near Spennymoor, in 1908.

Edith, therefore, would have been at primary school in the village when the treaty was signed in 1919 – could all the schoolchildren have been given a mug to commemorate the peace?

If you have a First World War mug from Byers Green or anywhere else in our area, please let us know.

JUNE 28 was the date that bookended the First World War.

As well as being the day in 1919 when the treaty was signed, it was the day in 1914 that Archduke Franz Ferdinand, the heir to the Austro- Hungarian throne, was assassinated in Sarajevo. His death plunged the world into war.

The Northern Echo:
A commemorative mug Edwardian from Byers Green

Next weekend’s Page in History will be The Northern Echo’s front page report of the assassination.

MEMORIES has also been talking this week at Bedale University of the Third Age (U3A). The talk was about the history of Darlington Civic Theatre which, among many other great claims to fame, is one of the most haunted buildings in the North- East.

There’s the ghost of Signor Rino Pepi, the theatre’s founder, in there, along with that of Maud Darling – a beautiful Tubwell Row-born actress of international repute who probably had a romantic liaison with Pepi. There’s a Scotsman called Jimmy on the fly-floor, there’s a woman on the balcony who is about to jump, and there are strange backstage wafts of cigar smoke without anyone smoking.

Twenty-odd years ago, there was the ghost of a countess’ small dog, although that was laid to rest when what might have been the pooch’s skeleton was re-buried beneath some tarmac.

Anyway, at Bedale a lady informed us she had been at the Civic earlier this year. She and her friend sat, she thinks, in N11 and N12 in the stalls.

Our informant became aware that a woman was coming along the row to sit beside her. The new arrival was wearing a black satin dress with a white collar and as she sat down, she lent forward and a large curl of black hair fell over her face.

The woman continued to look down, rather than up at the stage as you might expect, so our informant began to turn to say hello and check that she was comfortable.

The Northern Echo:
Another commemorative mug Edwardian from Byers Green

But when the Bedale lady turned to the side, there was no one in N13 – although there had been just a millisecond before.

“I don’t believe in ghosts, but...” said our informant. If you’ve ever been spooked at the Civic, please let us know.