Should rusting relic Amos be scrapped?

"I thought it was the worst we have defended all season and yet it was the best we have defended. It was horrible."

Readers will not only recognise a contradiction, if not quite an oxymoron, when they see one, but be irresistibly reminded of how Charles Dickens began A Tale of Two Cities.

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. It was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness," wrote Dickens. Last week's search for favourite headlines has ended with similarly mixed feelings.

THERE were gems, including the finest headline in 48pt history, but overall the response was a little disappointing.

Like Shakespeare, we had suggested that brevity was the soul of wit - as in Diva Las Vegas, the story about singer Celine Dion signing a 106 concert contract at Caesar's Palace - but almost every response exceeded the two or three word ideal.

Retired journalist Tom Dobbin remembers, less for its ingenuity than for its international improbability, a 1950s banner headline from the Stanley News - "Stanley Council Warns McCarthy" - and also (for its dumb insolence) a Durham Advertiser front page from the same era.

The reporter was Harold Williamson, later renowned for his way with we'ans, the story about an angry Mayor of Durham.

The sub-editor wrote the headline "My blood boils - Mayor", the compositor (a belligerent breed in those days) changed it to "My bloody boils - Mayor."

The Advertiser editor was the legendary Frank Rushford. "Old Rushie," recalls Tom, "went absolutely demented."

ALLEN Nixon recalls the headline about the Carlisle businessman who resigned the city council because of all the paperwork - "Too many minutes, not enough hours" - Arthur Pickering remembers the Variety magazine story about American actress Gloria Swanson's sudden illness on a return voyage from Europe.

"Sick transit Gloria" said the headline artist, fleetingly. Had the incident been on the first working day of the week, of course, the headline would have been "Sick transit Gloria, Monday."

At the Hartlepool Mail, adds Arthur, they still treasure the sports edition headline "Stockton players' brains hurt" - written by someone who'd had a liquid lunch, was a fan of Monty Python and hated Saturday afternoon subbing shifts.

Mark Davenport, Arthur's colleague at Tyne Tees Television, calls to mind the story of a Co Durham superdad with a dozen kids, no job and a small fortune in benefits.

His bosses, sadly, vetoed the headline "Fecund nuisance" though The Sun (of course) is much more liberal.

Redcar and Cleveland Council leader David Walsh recalls - "there's a personal involvement, but I'm not telling you" - the story of the senior RAF officer who left vital Nato plans on the Tube.

He was Squadron Leader Farquhar. In the unlikely event of anyone not being able to imagine the two word headline which accompanied the Sun's story, the first word was "Silly."

THOUGH it may again owe more to mischievousness than to grey matter, Peter Sotheran in Redcar also resubstantiates a Northern Echo headline from 1975 - though it could have been any time in the succeeding 27 years - about the John H Amos, a decrepit old paddle tug moored morosely on the Tees in Stockton.

Briefly, memory suggests, it was also the world's smallest floating nightclub, run by someone called Kate who'd been born a man.

The Echo's dream topping was "Rusting relic Amos must be scrapped, says group" and even that wasn't the most indelible headline of all time.

Back, where we began, to football. Inverness Caledonian Thistle, in those days barely a nettle rash in football terms, beat the mighty Glasgow Celtic in the Scottish FA Cup

As if he'd been dreaming of it all his life, as quite possibly he had, a Scottish sub-editor wrote the immortal headline "Super Cally go ballistic, Celtic are atrocious."

NOT the stuff of headlines, perhaps, but there is much else to occupy the small print around here.

Tony Hillman draws attention to the new bus stop signs in Darlington - "They've all got Darlington town centre on the top, do they suppose folk think they're in Birmingham or somewhere?" - whilst Eric White in Aycliffe Village points out that the Town Crier, Darlington Council's minicipal magazine, is being delivered around their doors.

Aycliffe's in the Borough of Sedgefield. "They must be planning a take over," says Eric.

Janet Murrell in Darlington returns whence it came the business page story about a machine called Annie that's drilling a new London underground tunnel from "Stratford to St Pancreas" - she really is deep into the interior, muses Janet - whilst David Shaw in Lartington, Teesdale, revises last week's note on the use of the apostrophe in "children's."

At Quarry View Juniors in Sunderland, he says, Alan Hunter always taught them that the possessive was "childrens'".

Mr Hunter, if quoted correctly, was fearfully and profoundly mistaken - though David has already prepared his defence. "I'm an engineer, and thus excused spelling and punctuation, anyway."

SUNNY smiles former television weather man Jack Scott, born at East Howle near Ferryhill, has also been back in touch.

He's now at Wallingford in Oxfordshire - "not unlike Ferryhill, same size, same Friday market" - and at 78 still managing two or three rounds of golf each week.

Jack still has family up here - "no one says much about me without me knowing about it a couple of days later" - and for Elizabeth Kellett in Gurney Valley, near Bishop Auckland, the world may be smaller yet.

Again echoing school songs, last week's column recalled that Mrs Kellett, once landlady of the Tan Hill inn, had been a wartime pupil at Kelsick Grammar School in Ambleside.

The morning that it appeared, a Kelsick contemporary rang - living, unknown to one another, about two miles apart. They're probably reminiscing still.

TWO weeks after we recalled the pure hell of St Trinian's - and its anarchic school song - Ealing Studios announced a £50m remake.

The originals starred Sid James, Beryl Reid, George Cole - an as attendant spiv - and the wondrous Alastair Sim, as Miss Fritton, the headmistress.

Now, they say, they're hoping the biggest name will be Kylie Minogue's. Whether that's pure hell also probably depends upon where and when you spent the happiest days of your life.

ALL of which leaves precious little space for further old school echoes. A mere snatch, therefore, from East Hetton Senior School - at Kelloe, near Durham - as sung to the tune of Much Binding in the Marsh and recalled by David Armstrong, now in Redcar.

At East Hetton on the hill, like a phoenix we're rising from the ashes

At East Hetton on the hill, we've athletes who can win the sports day dashes.

We've pupils who can act a bit and pupils who can sing

We'll show the other schools around, we'll try most anything.

We'll get another school and be best at everything

At East Hetton on the hill...

FINALLY, we are grateful to the Church Times for the revelation that the Ten Commandments have been translated into text-message speak, the imperfect shorthand of the day.

"God: Im No. 1. No pix, plz. Uz my name nicely. Day7=holy. Take care of mum'n'dad. Don't kill, scru round, steal or lie. Keep yr hands (and eyes) off wot isn't yrs."

There's also a very good joke, though not in the Church Times, about not having text on a first date.

Off 2 Scotland 4 a week. Column bak in 2 w ks. CUL8R. Gadfly.

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