John North: Prize catch for the king of scoops

At the age of 91, he has caught a 20lb 5oz rainbow trout - the one that didn't get away - reckoned the heaviest ever landed on a British river.

"It was a series of flukes, typical of a life which has been one long lucky streak," insists the mole catcher who grew up in Darlington and became hooked on fishing on the Tees at Croft.

Had it been a brown trout, he supposes, he'd have had the monster mounted. In the event it was served, smoked, as a dinner party first course for 26 friends. All were fed famously.

"I don't think any of my offspring are particularly interested in stuffed fish and it would have cost me £400," he says. "It was greatly appreciated as it was."

Mr Pincher - his byline said Chapman, friends and family know him as Harry - was born in India, where his father was a major with the Northumberland Fusiliers.

When he was eight, the family returned to Darlington where his father became manager of the Theatre Royal and his mother ("a rather beautiful lady with a very good voice") principal comedienne with the attendant repertory company.

"I had the most wonderful childhood. I can still vividly see all those places in Darlington because we loved it so much.

"We'd meet all the big names - Gracie Fields, Bud Flanagan, Tommy Trinder - breaking their journey to Newcastle or somewhere. I was at the theatre a lot, either doing kid parts or buggering about with the stage hands."

His father also owned two sweet shops. One, known as the Cabin, was near the Alhambra in Northgate, the other in Post House Wynd. When his parents decided against Sunday opening, young Harry opened up instead.

"I used to stuff myself sick with chocolate, but we could make £3 in a morning, which was a lot of money in those days."

He won a scholarship from Corporation Road elementary school to Queen Elizabeth Grammar School, was introduced to fishing by a fellow pupil.

His first catch, a quarter pound roach, was from the Tees opposite the Comet at Hurworth Place, south of Darlington, where his father had become landlord.

"There was always someone coming in to see if I was going rook shooting, or ferreting, or fishing," he says. "It couldn't really have been much more idyllic."

Though he trained as a biologist, he joined the Daily Express as science and medical editor after the war, switched to defence and in 1966 was named "Reporter of the decade" after a succession of global scoops - only a distant relation to the latter day "world exclusive" - which enthralled readers and enraged governments.

The criticism didn't worry him. Once asked his favourite comedian, he replied that it was Harold Wilson. Newcastle University awarded him an honorary Doctorate of Letters.

Many of his sources were among high placed friends in the shooting and fishing set. The self-confessed bumpkin, said the dust jacket of a 1993 autobiography, "managed to fulfil his youthful ambition of living as closely as possible, within limited means, the life of a country squire".

An extraordinary range of books ranges from "A Study of Fishes" to "One Dog and Her Man", from "Sex in our Time" to "Sleep and How To Get More Of it".

He became best known, however, for "Their Trade is Treachery" and other exposs of the Cold War espionage network. His Who's Who entry still lists "spy hunting, ferreting in Whitehall and bolting politicians" among his hobbies.

Now he lives in Berkshire, fishes on the Kennet - "a famous chalk river" - still drives, still wades, still writes but no longer for newspapers. "My life has been fantastic, to employ an overused word, but when you get to 91, you don't like working against the clock."

If he writes another book, he says, it will also be about spying, though that glorious rainbow could also illumine a few pages.

"The keeper knew about it but, keepers being keepers, they don't tell you of these things," he says.

"I was just amazed at its size. I knew it was quite long, but I had no idea of its depth. I caught it by a weir, but I only had 5lb breaking strain and knew I couldn't hold it.

"Fortunately for me and unfortunately for the fish, it insisted on going upstream and got caught in lots of weed.

"It too me 100 yards upstream, against the current, but it tired itself out. I realised I was going to have quite a problem getting it into the net, and the only way was to hold the net vertical. It went in first time."

A thrill? "I get a thrill every time I cast, it's the great uncertainty of it all."

Though he no longer goes salmon fishing in Scotland - "those wretched motorways, I can do without all that" - his regular, waist deep forays will continue into the Kennet.

It may never match Their Trade is Treachery, but tales of the riverbank could clearly catch the imagination, too.

ON a pleasant Sunday morning, if not necessarily a bright golden haze on the meadow, we bump in the pub into George Romaines.

Singer from the very first note on Tyne Tees Television's affectionately remembered One O'Clock Show, George - otherwise Shildon's Singing Son - had spotted in Darlington a banner promoting a local production of Oklahoma.

"I remember that," said someone else. "I still have your LP of it."

It was made in 1963, with the Mike Sammes Singers, and others. George sang the part of Curly - Oklahoma, said the sleeve notes, was "the sensation of the American theatre".

Though going fine, as probably they say in Oklahoma, he resists invitations for a reprise. "I'm not auditing for Curly's part just at the moment," says George, 75. "It's come about 30 years too late."

SHILDON'S Singing Son, we hear, still has a long way to go to catch up on its chanteuse.

The highly appropriately named Jenny Wren, whom once we took on in a Laughing Policeman competition in the King Willie - Jenny won - will be 100 on November 3.

"She's still active, still sings all the old songs and still talks about all the people she met through singing in the pubs and clubs," says Shirley Longstaff at the Hackworth House residential home in Shildon.

Notices around the place promise that the occasion will be marked by a party with "entertainment". No guesses who'll be leading the singing.

ANOTHER musical note, Bert Draycott writes from Fishburn after a catalogue advertising "all those things you never knew you wanted" was delivered with his Sunday paper.

Among them - "What next?" says Bert - was a device for holding spoons in the correct position when playing.

"I would like to point out," he adds, "that this device is not allowed under the International Spoon Playing Federation rules for use in any championship matches."

Previous letters have been signed WCSP. This one's "ex-WCSP". The poor chap was only second in the world championship, in Trimdon last month.

LAST week's obituary on long serving Stockton Conservative councillor Stephen Smailes noted that, as a cricketer for Stockton III, he had been the first of six victims in as many balls by Spennymoor second team bowler Brian Milburn.

Mike Syson was another. "I remember everyone knew the bowler as Jackie," he says. "The problem is no-one believes me. It would be wonderful if someone still had the score book." We'll pass on any information.

Bob Harbron, meanwhile, notes that though Stephen had 38 years council service, and was a former mayor, no flag flew over the town hall to mark his passing.

The council blamed the halyards, which is more or less what Bob thought. "Stephen was a wonderful Stocktonian," he says. "He deserved something better."

...and finally, John Briggs spots in The Guardian an obituary on Robin Page, a former Northern Echo journalist who founded Newspoint, an independent news agency in the Houses of Parliament. He was 79.

Born in West Hartlepool, he was brought up in Barnard Castle, won a scholarship to Barney school and started at 16 on the Teesdale Mercury. After spells on several North-East papers, including this one, he became night editor of the Daily Herald in Manchester.

His death had hitherto been unrecorded on his old paper, though our archives do bear reference to a Mr Robin Page, aged 61, who in August had become involved in a television debate with Michael Buerk on the role of women.

Mr Page had recently married. "You want something warm in bed at my time of life," he said.

Buerk asked why he didn't just get a terrier. "Because," said Mr Page, "I haven't yet found a terrier who can use a Hoover."