Vincent Marron became a Roman Catholic priest on July 26, 1942. Precisely 60 years later, and with a homily he described as "the idle thoughts of an idle man", he returned to Ushaw College to celebrate, and to give thanks.

He is a marvellous old chap, or diamond geezer as might be said of a more secular sexagenarian. Devout, humble, twinkling and slightly mischievous, he puts his 85 years down to red wine.

Though best remembered for three decades as parish priest of Hutton House, in south-east Durham, his first wet-eared posting was to the colliery village of Ryhope, near Sunderland.

"We met people who'd forgotten more than we ever knew, but men who were old enough to be your fathers and grandfathers would still take their caps off to you," he recalled in last Friday's homily.

"It was wonderful respect, but it wasn't the priest they were acknowledging, it was the priesthood."

Much else has changed, of course, not least that a record 38 Ushaw students were ordained in the same year as Fr Marron, from a college population of over 300. Now there are but a handful of intending priests, and a great many furrowed brows.

He was born in Chopwell, near Gateshead, the village once known as Little Moscow because of its Communist sympathies and blood red street names. "The miners took all the street signs down," he recalled, "on the day the Russians invaded Finland."

Life at Ushaw was austere, especially during the war. On the day of his ordination, news items ranged from the death of nine people in a major air raid on Middlesbrough to the introduction of sweet rationing, 2oz per person per week.

The Hexham and Newcastle diocese had so many priests, however, that all but three of the new intake stayed at Ushaw until the following February, sent out only at weekends.

"What a difference today, more parishes and far fewer priests," he reflected, voice occasionally fading like a phone with a bad connection but manifestly naught ailing in heart or mind. At the end of his homily, they applauded.

For 20 years he was an occasionally impatient assistant priest throughout the diocese, stood on the St James's Park terraces with the future Cardinal Basil Hume, was eventually offered Hutton House and moved four days later.

Church and presbytery lie in fields near the A19, serving Hutton Henry, Wingate, Station Town, Castle Eden and other villages. "Other priests would ask me how it was and I told them it was paradise on earth," he said.

"That's why I kept dogs, so none of them could get in."

Hutton House overflowed a coach, almost falling over one another last Friday in their eagerness to acknowledge their former priest. Always reliable, they said, friend to everyone, brought us all up.

Called a spade a spade, they said, never lost his sense of humour, very firm but might have mellowed. No one, they agreed, could ever step into his shoes.

"I'm just glad they're still speaking to me," said the diminutive Fr Marron.

There, too, were five concelebrating priests - including the redoubtable Canon Wilfrid Fee, who can give Fr Marron a year or two - and new friends he's made whilst lunching out in the Bishop Auckland area.

Mondays it's the Post Chaise, Tuesdays Bishops Bistro, Wednesdays Harvey's, Thursdays the Fortune Court. If it's Friday it must be Ministers, in Sedgefield.

"It's almost become a little club. Fr Marron richly entertains us," said retired solicitor Joe Brown-Humes who goes, every Tuesday, to Bishops Bistro.

Fr Marron retired to St Joseph's presbytery at Coundon, near Bishop Auckland, where he lives with Fr Patrick McMahon, his nephew. After assisting at Coundon and Shildon, he no longer takes public Mass.

"The bishop used to ask me what retirement was like and I'd tell him that if I'd known what it was like, I'd have retired on the day I was ordained. For some reason he doesn't ask me any more."

In truth he'd never regretted his calling, enjoyed every minute - "well, almost all of them" - invited the congregation to tea and biscuits ("I never got a biscuit all the time I was at Ushaw") and to have a smoke outside.

"We weren't allowed to smoke in the refectory, either. I don't suppose you are now."

They formed admiring little groups around him, none hurrying homeward. Though bare headed, we took our caps off once again to the remarkable Vincent Marron.