Durham life

Professor Don Watson, who lives in the area, has been in touch with some fascinating history.

A chapel is said to have been built at Hareholme by a fellow called Redpath as his way of atoning for his part in the murder of Thomas a Becket, the Archbishop of Canterbury. King Henry II famously asked "who will rid me of this troublesome priest?", which a group of knights interpreted as an invitation to murder and duly despatched the archbishop in Canterbury Cathedral on December 29, 1170. Mr Redpath is said to have been among them, and it may be that Rag Path Wood, near Esh Winning, derives its name from his surname.

“The name Hareholm is late 13th Century and most likely means “grey water meadow” although “hare water meadow” and “water meadow where horehound grows” are also possible,” says Don.

The chapel was definitely in existence in 1611, but later became a domestic building. The last occupants, the Lane family, left in 1948, and it rumbled down, its last wall coming down in 1981.

“I inspected the site before it was ploughed in and 'rescued' some medieval building stones with chevron carvings which are now in a garden wall at my home,” he says.

Ushaw Moor College, which trained Catholic priests, came to the area in 1804 and adopted its badge with three rabbits in 1840. They were on the coat-of-arms of the college’s founder, William Allen, and so they have no connection with the hares of Hareholme.

But the late Ken Clark, in his 1987 book about the area, tells of a real, and interesting, link. “Some 200 metres north of Hareholme Chapel there was an open air, stone-lined swimming bath which was constructed for college students in the 1800s,” he wrote. The swimming bath was filled with water pumped from the nearby River Deerness.

“It has not been used for many years and is now overgrown,” he concluded.

Today, the pool is still overgrown, although it does still hold water, albeit stagnant.

AND so to the own goal in the same edition. We had found a 1930s photo in The Northern Echo archive on the rear of which someone had once pencilled: “Horse train station, Shildon”. Although it looked naggingly familiar, we couldn’t place and asked for assistance.

It came by the trainload, with contributions from Alan Ellwood, Dennis Townson, Phil Mothersdale, Paul Pinkney, Alan Hogg, Ray Gordon and many others, all pointing us to Memories 281 in which there was a long article about Daniel Adamson, the Shildon lad who saved the Manchester Ship Canal and who has a steam tug named after him in Liverpool’s Albert Docks.

Adamson lived with his father, Daniel, in the Grey Horse Inn in Shildon. Daniel Senior used his pub as a starting point for horsedrawn railway rides along the Stockton and Darlington Railway in the late 1820s. The horses and coaches were stabled across the road from the pub. Some people refer to it as the “horse train station”, but most know it as Daniel Adamson’s Coaching House.

In 1831, the Surtees Railway opened. It ran from Shildon Lodge Colliery behind the pub. It went past the horse train station and then joined the S&DR at the Soho junction.

“It is definitely the old coaching house at the northern end of Byerley Road,” says Mrs D Stobbs, of Shildon. “I moved into this area as a little girl in 1938, when the fence and railway lines had gone, and I have seen this building every day of my life since.”

THIS probably counts as an own goal, too. In Memories 288, we had a picture of the Colpitts Hotel in Durham City in 1975. Hanging from over its door was a sign that made us wonder. It said: “Taddy Ales.”

Taddy Ales, as lots of people pointed out, come from Tadcaster, between York and Leeds, where they are brewed by Samuel Smith – although the title “Taddy Ales” seems no longer to be used.

Samuel Smith’s Brewery is next to John Smith’s Brewery, a result of a family split in the 1880s. Samuel Smith’s, which dates back to 1758 and so is Yorkshire’s oldest brewery, is still independent, while John Smith’s, brewers of Magnet, is owned by Heinekin.

Anyway, it all caused Peter Daniels in Bishop Auckland to say: “Beers from the 1960s that have vanished include Nimmo’s of Castle Eden (now Whitbread) and, of course, Vaux of Sunderland. Nimmo’s I remember as being an ‘average’ kind of brew; Vaux I disliked, although if well-cellared (and conditions had to be absolutely right) it could be pleasant enough.

“None of them could match the creamy strength of a good pint of Cameron’s Strongarm, and the best pint of that was at the Railway Hotel, Durham, now a road that runs from the North Road roundabout to the mass of traffic lights at the end of Milburngate Bridge – the only Cameron’s house in the City.”

CARRYING on the drinking theme, Geoff Clay in Bishop Auckland has his grandfather’s pint glass which has “St Helen’s Workmen’s Club” etched on the side.

Geoff says: “My dad was born in St Helen’s but he can’t remember the club.”

Who can tell us about St Helen’s Workmen’s Club?

JIM HARPER from Gilesgate emailed to take us to task – in the nicest possible way – for underplaying the role of the traffic policeman stationed in the famous box in Durham Market Place in last week’s Memories.

“Much more important than the road along Saddler Street up to the cathedral was the turning onto Elvet Bridge, which was the single file A177 away to the south east which was also controlled from the box,” he said. “The box also controlled the single file A690 which went north along Silver Street.”

He is, of course, right. The police box first appeared in 1932 and a single bobby sat in it, operating the traffic lights without being able to see most of the traffic he was supposed to be controlling.

In December 1957, that dome-topped box was replaced with the squarer box. It had two television screens which were connected to cameras on poles so he could now see what was happening in his blind spots of Elvet and Saddler Street.

The box was a real feature of the city until it was removed in November 1975 when the new road systems were complete.

MEMORIES 277 climbed Kirkcarrion, the enigmatic tree-topped hill that broods above Middleton-in-Teesdale.

It is believed to be a stone burial site from the Bronze Age – 2,000BC to about 500BC. We wondered whether it was connected to the Brigantes tribe which ruled the north for several centuries after the Bronze Age until they were quelled by the Romans. One theory is that they buried their Prince Caryn on Kirkcarrion.

Roger Redfearn of Barnard Castle, who has long studied the history of his dale, points us in the direction of the Celts, another pre-Roman tribe which roamed the dale.

They called Kirkcarrion “Careg Caer Rhan” which translates as the “stone castle of Rhan”. Rhan was a name that meant “lord” – the one who reigned over the rest of the people. Over time, Rhan became Raine, and even today there are plenty of Raines in Teesdale.

So Kirkcarrion is their stone castle, the resting place of one of the Raines.

The Celts haven’t left that much in the dale, a part from the river’s name – Tees is believed to come from a Celtic word for boiling, or surging, or perhaps winding.

And, says Roger, they left the old-fashioned method of counting Teesdale sheep, which he words like this:

Yan, tan, tethera, methera, pimp – this made five, also known as a hand.

Sethera, hethera, hothera, dothea, dick – ten.

Yan-a-dick, tan-a-dick, tethera-dick, methera-dick, bumfit – 15.

Yan-a-bumfit, tan-a-bumfit, tethera-bumfit, methera-bumfit, gigot – which made 20, also known as a score.

There are numerous ways of spelling and pronouncing these words, with most rural northern counties having their own versions.