MANY postmen have made heroic efforts to get through dale snowdrifts to deliver mail over the years, but a feat by John Smith was one of the most notable.

He was employed by the Postmaster General as a contractor, with the task of moving bags of mail between places.

During one of the hardest winters in 1853 he had the job of transporting batches between Darlington and Barnard Castle. He struggled through in tough conditions for several days but then the drifts became much deeper.

He was told in Darlington that there was no way he could get up the dale. But the determined fellow set off in a horse drawn carriage and after a long struggle surprised everyone by arriving in Gainford.

He handed over a bag of mail and was assured it was absolutely impossible to go any further as the road was completely blocked. Give up? Not him. He unhitched the horse from the carriage, put a saddle on it, clambered aboard and pulled a large mailbag up beside him.

He knew he could not get there by road so he rode down to the River Tees and kept close to its bank as he headed upstream. There were blockages on the way but he managed to get round them and eventually reached the town.

Some friends were so impressed that they bought him a silver snuff box and had it inscribed: "Presented to Mr Smith by a few friends in Gainford and neighbourhood for his exertions to ensure the regular arrival of mail during the severe weather in the early part of the year 1853."

He married Martha Ewbank of the King's Head Hotel in Barnard Castle and managed it for some years while continuing with the mail work. He was skilful in looking after the hotel's team of horses. which were hired out to local businesses and visitors.

They were also used by the town's part time fire brigade to pull water tenders to outbreaks. John was proud of the fact that Charles Dickens stayed at the King's Head in 1838 and he liked to talk about the novelist to guests.

He set out a flower garden behind the hotel and it became an attraction for visitors. He was so well respected that when he died aged 62 the town's main shops closed and householders shut their curtains.

GEORGE Layton, a talented young writer, made a number of people determined to visit Cauldron Snout waterfall in Upper Teesdale after he wrote a long poem about it in 1813.

He lived in Cotherstone so it took him and two friends all day from dawn until dusk to trek all the way there and back. It is on the Tees upstream from High Force and just below Cow Green reservoir, which was created long after his visit.

His ode started by describing the trio's walk: Over mountains and ravines and mosses their way/From Balder and back took a long summer's day.

They stopped at Wemmergill for a rest and breakfast before trudging on -- and they were greatly impressed when they eventually came to the long sloping cataract: High crowning the cliff with a white foaming wave/Then leaping o'er rocks to a fathomless grave/Talk not of foreign cascade or far waterfall/For the glory of Cauldron outrivals them all.

After scrambling up and down the rocks and watching the gushing water from different angles, Layton decided this sight was more impressive than High Force. The threesome called at that tourist attraction on the way back, but the poet remarked that it was just a huge waterfall, not as spectacular as Cauldron.

His description made others want to see it, so on Sundays there was an influx of visitors -- probably a trickle rather than a large number. Some went partly by horse drawn omnibus (as this form of transport was known before being shortened to three letters) or in hired carriages, then hiked the rest of the route. The fittest folk walked all the way from Middleton or other villages.

Layton wrote neat descriptions of other attractions in the dale in a book called Castle Barnard, which ran to two editions and sold well. He taught at a school near Bowes, then went to Newcastle and worked with some success in commerce. He later moved to Cheshire, where he lived into his seventies.

WORKHOUSES in the dales were always well filled for Christmas as the guardians who controlled them liked to put on a hearty festive dinner for the residents.

Those in Stanhope and Barnard Castle had a reputation for the finest fare on the big day so tramps planned their wanderings to arrive there at the right time. They were always made welcome, even if they arrived just before the meal was dished out.

The guardians, mostly local businessmen, enjoyed dressing as chefs and waiters, and some chipped in money to provide extras such as fruit, sweets, chocolate, ounces of tobacco and pints of ale.

Some got busy in the kitchen, roasting big joints of beef and pork, preparing all the trimmings and mixing plum puddings. Most agreed they would never dream of tackling such duties at home. Others did the carving and took round the plates.

There were seconds for those who wanted them and most of the diners did. A blind eye was turned to those seen spiriting goodies off their plates and into napkins and then into pockets, to be eaten later in the day.

Some guardians even did a spot of entertaining, singing songs to fiddle music or cracking a few jokes. But there was consternation on Christmas Day in 1929 when it was announced this would be the last feast under the old system.

The guardians, who had been in charge of workhouses since 1836, were to be relieved of this duty as control was being transferred to the county council.

Would members of that important body turn up to act as cooks, servers and dish washers? Most people felt it wasn't likely. But even though they no longer had power in workhouses some guardians asked the county for permission to keep going in on future Christmas days to give inmates their traditional treat. The county was happy to agree, so the poor folk went on getting their feast plus a few extras.

WHEN William Robert Coates emigrated from Barnard Castle to America in the 1880s he had no firm idea about the career he would follow. But after arriving there he joined the army and soon made a name for himself as a fine soldier in the Third Cavalry.

He was based at Jefferson Barracks in Missouri and seemed destined to reach a high rank. But in 1895, when he was aged 29 and seemingly superbly fit, he died from influenza.

There had been an outbreak of this illness in the barracks, but his death came as a shock to everyone, including his father, William Coates, back home in Teesdale.

He must have felt pride, however, when a letter arrived from the USA stating: "Owing to his manly character, his uprightness, unselfishness and valour, the memory of Robert will forever live in the hearts of all who knew him.

His manifold fine qualities endeared him to all." A sergeant added: "I mourn the loss of an intimate, devoted friend, tried and true."

The dalesman was buried with full military honours in a national cemetery near the barracks.