Qualified failure

Standing sandwiched between two rutting stag groups, a particularly plump hen party is on the 9.40 from Darlington last Saturday, necking prosecco from plastic flutes and crisps from a bottomless bag. That’s all in one vestibule, and before the Boro boys squeeze aboard at Northallerton.

Were birds of a different feather to be so confined there’d be charges of assault in battery (though the chickens, poor sods, might quite enjoy the prosecco.)

Past York, things thin out a bit, though it’s lovely at last to be in Leeds. In 53 years of journalism, I never thought I’d write that sentence.

THE train down the branch line from Leeds is twice as long and about a hundredth as full. Still four hours to kick off, after all.

GUISELEY, home in 1928 of the first Harry Ramsden’s, may be the only town in Britain best known for its fish and chip shop, though Seaton Carew might have had a claim until that conniving canoeist came along.

Within three years, Ramsden had progressed from a wooden hut to what he claimed was the biggest chip ‘ole in the land, all shrubs and chandeliers. By the turn of the century there were 170 worldwide, though reviews suggested that, like the North Sea, the brand was becoming overfished.

On the column’s last visit, against Newcastle Benfield 11 years ago, the view was confirmed. “It was a king’s new clothes meal, as flat as a filleted plaice and no amount of salt, pepper, vinegar, mustard or ketchup could render it otherwise,” we wrote, not wild about Harry’s at all.

Ramsden’s has now had several owners – the Scarborough outlet suffered a serious fire just as we were passing Garforth – but Guiseley is now one of five Wetherby Whalers.

What’s less well known is that the young Harry Corbett played the piano at Ramsden’s chip ‘ole, married into the family, had a hand in one of show business’s most unlikely success stories.

Back in 1946, Corbett paid 7/6s on Blackpool North Pier for a glove puppet with which to entertain his kids. Originally, very unoriginally, he called it Teddy.

The puppet was renamed Sooty after Corbett coloured its paws black. Together they made their professional debut at Pudsey Conservative Club in 1948 and by 1952 were on the tentative telly.

“After five minutes on the television screen, Sooty is already a rival to Muffin the Mule,” the Daily Express enthused the following day.

Five years later they were joined by Sweep, described as “a doleful and rather dim dog”, and thereafter by a panda called Soo, who appeared to be female and thus stirred early sexism allegations within the national breast.

Finally the BBC agreed that Soo could stay, so long as Sooty did his share of the washing up and didn’t hit her over the head with a rubber hammer as he did, all the time, with poor Corbett.

His son Matthew finally took over the puppet and the rights, selling both for £1.5m in 1998 to a subsidiary of the Bank of Yokohama.

Guiseley has a taste of Summer Wine country about it, appropriate because it’s a mellow October day. We have a livener in the Factory Workers’ Club, opened more than a century ago when the mills and dye works were all in full vigour, then head back to the Station Hotel.

Two or three of the street signs carry stickers with the unexplained slogan “Guiseley FC on tour: against modern football.” There’s a shop called Guise and Dolls.

The pub’s full of Shildon supporters. You can tell they’re Shildon supporters because they’re bellowing “We all live at the top of Eldon Bank” to the tune of Yellow Submarine.

It’s a curious lyric. Those who know Shildon will confirm that all there is at the top of Eldon Bank is the Aged Miners’ Homes. Perhaps there’s something they’re not telling us.

Shildon are seeking to become the first Ebac Northern League club since 2003 to reach the first round proper – when they themselves played Notts County. Guiseley, third bottom of the Vanarama National League (nee Conference), have entered at this stage. The bookies offer 5-1 against a Shildon win, which seems remarkably stingy.

The differences are marked. For one thing there are more stewards than a CIU convention and for another the Guiseley players are numbered from about one to 300. Shildon, more traditionally, turn out 1 to 11.

A home supporter worries that they’re missing England youth international Lee Molyneux, formerly with Everton and Southampton and reckoned Guiseley’s best player. He’s been missed before, jailed for three years in 2011 for a particularly nasty assault while on a binge drinking session.

They’re known as the Lions, though none can explain why. Perhaps Billy Smart’s circus once came to town. Further to confuse matters, the ad urging Guiseley to “Follow the lions” is illustrated by a train – is that the collective noun?– of camels.

At half-time it’s goalless, Shildon seemingly comfortable and Guiseley so worried that the PA man gives details of the replay (if not of the closures on the A1.)

The elder bairn, also in attendance, is asked if he’d be more excited by a Shildon goal or by Aaron Ramsey’s winner for Arsenal, viewed from the Wembley gods last May. “Oh Shildon,” he says at once. “At Wembley I couldn’t invade the pitch.”

Also among the 772 crowd is Durham County Council leader and football fanatic Simon Henig, the North-East’s No 1 Leicester City fan, who recalls that Tim Peake’s space craft is due to touch down at the Locomotion railway museum in November. “All happening to Shildon, isn’t it?” he says.

AFTER 15 minutes of the second half, the lustrously named Mike Fondop-Talom puts Guiseley ahead. He’s No 30. Isn’t there a rule against it? Whatever happened to being against modern football? Can’t we appeal to the FA?

Soon it’s 2-0, three when Shildon defender Kyle May is sent off for a foul in the box and John Rooney converts the penalty. His brother’s quite handy from the spot, too.

It ends 6-0, the PA chap now happily chirping that they’ll be No 58 – or was that the centre half? – when the draw’s made on Monday evening.

The Shildon folk know that their boys have had a good run, head philosophically enough to the top of Eldon Bank until discovering that the A1 south of Scotch Corner is closed yet again.

For the column, the real Railroad to Wembley resumes on Saturday when we follow West Auckland to Manchester in the FA Vase. Dammit, if we’re not on the 9.40 from Darlington.