AT a church service to remember the terrible events of March 23-24, 1968, there could hardly have been a more appropriate scripture.

We also sang Psalm 23, with the lines about walking in the valley of death and fearing no evil. That dreadful, deadly weekend exactly 50 years ago, the poor guys must have been utterly terrified.

The column recalled a few weeks back that 22 members and friends from St John’s youth club in Shildon had set out in appalling weather to hike the High Pennine fells from Dufton to Middleton-in-Teesdale.

The first group formed a human chain in an attempt to cross the turbulent Swarth Beck – usually, it was recalled, walkers could jump across it – but four were swept away.

Two were quickly carried to the bank. The Rev Vincent Ashwin, a young curate, was helplessly propelled several hundred yards downstream, much of it under water, but finally found himself on firm ground.

Ken Brown, a 23-year-old postgraduate scientist, was carried away. His body was spotted the following morning, several miles away at Middleton, by a crew from RAF Acklington.

The remainder set out for help, the nearest farmhouse several miles whence they had come. David Vaughan, 19, soon struggled in the worsening weather and three others dropped back to support him. He died from hypothermia and was also found the following day.

I should have been there, too, plans changed the previous day by an unexpectedly returning girlfriend. Someone else, it was recalled after last Saturday’s service, had decided instead to watch Sunderland.

When they lifted their eyes to the mountains, help may have seemed an awfully long way off. The alarm finally raised, the first response was from an Outward Bound team at Ullswater. Before the weekend was over, they’d be joined by four mountain rescue teams from the Lake District, two RAF helicopters, two police forces, the Civil Defence and even the Women’s Voluntary Service.

The Teesdale area had no organised rescue body. As a direct result of the tragedy, what now is the Teesdale and Weardale Search and Mountain Rescue Team was formed.

Canon David Tomlinson, St John’s current vicar, drew appropriate analogy with Good Friday. “It wasn’t just the end, it was also the beginning,” he told Saturday’s congregation. “Somehow, miraculously, something good came out of the horror of that day, something that has saved many lives.”

The theme was echoed by rescue team leader Steve Owers, a retired senior officer with Durham and Darlington fire service. “I would like to think that when (Ken and David) look down today, they will be happy that that tragic event has saved so many.”

The afternoon altogether more clement, scores attended the service – rescue team members, 1960s contemporaries. David Vaughan’s older brother Arthur.

Someone carried a bulky rucksack. Perhaps it was in case of emergency, perhaps their sandwiches.

Unable to be there, Canon Ashwin – now 75 – plans a 16-mile Teesdale walk in May as a tribute to the victims. The rescue team later unveiled a plaque in their memory at its Durham headquarters.

“It’s been beautifully done,” said Arthur Vaughan and, amid so much poignancy, indeed it was.

ANOTHER Shildon occasion, family and friends gathered last Monday to mark the 20th anniversary of the death of Bill Malcolm, an inspired and inspiring teacher.

Albums overflowed with memories. One held a sting in the tail to which – a little reluctantly – we shall return.

Bill was a Scottish soldier, saw action at Dunkirk, was billeted at Stainton Camp near Barnard Castle and met Elsie, his future wife, at a dance in Cockfield village hall.

Elsie was a Sunderland evacuee, served in the Timber Corps – a branch (as it were) of the Land Girls – received in 2008 a citation from Gordon Brown, then the prime minister.

“Profoundly grateful for your unsparing efforts,” wrote the PM.

“About time, too” said Elsie. She died in 2015.

Bill began teaching at Shildon Boys Modern School in 1947, chiefly a dextrous woodwork master, but at various times also responsible for domestic science, religious knowledge and current affairs.

He became president of the Durham County branch of the NUT and was a tireless road safety campaigner, particularly through the cycling proficiency test, and a special constable.

National awards included a Knight of the Road (sponsored by the News of the World) and another from Shell Mex BP.

When the Boys Modern outlived its use in 1975, he transferred to Sunnydale comprehensive, became a year head and was prominent in the successful fight five years later to save the school from closure.

“Whatever he did he gave 100 per cent to,” said Sue Charlton, his daughter, though the claim may not strictly have been true.

Former pupil Dave Wardell recalled being caned by Mr Malcolm. “It was what teachers did back then, but he was probably the only one who apologised for it. He was just going through the motions.”

That wasn’t the sting in the tail, rather the opposite. The sting in the tale was on the final page of one of the albums, a formal letter – written in 1981 and carefully preserved – from the then news editor of The Northern Echo, another Shildon lad.

“I understand to my horror that I am in your bad books for not buying the drinks at Elm Road club last night.”

It seemed completely out of character. Better late, we raised a glass last Monday evening, instead.

LADY Sybil Eden, chatelaine of Windlestone Hall and mother of the 1950s prime minister, was recalled here two or three weeks back.

More was promised and more will ere long result – for it is a truly shocking story.

Since today’s is pretty much a Shildon column, however, a couple of early extracts from Robert Rhodes James’s biography of Sir Anthony.

Firstly, on Lady Sybil’s largesse. “Lady Eden,” the local press reported at Christmas, 1896, “is as always busier than usual about this time, distributing meats and warm clothing to all who need them. With her usual generosity, a large amount of beef and plum puddings has been given to the poor of Shildon, Coundon and Merrington and to the Bishop Auckland workhouse.”

Sir William Eden, Anthony’s (supposed) father, was chairman of Bishop Auckland magistrates, a role in which he became known as Old Seven and Sixpence.

The Northern Star of December 14, 1897, reported what James supposes a “wholly characteristic exchange” between Sir William and a solicitor named Proud, doubtless of the celebrated Bishop family, who represented David Mellor from Shildon on a charge of drunkenness.

Mr Proud: “If I am prepared to call half of Shildon to show that the man was not drunk, surely that would have some weight on the bench?”

Sir William: “Call them.”

Mr Proud: “Well, I scarcely know what to do.”

“Sir William: “Well, call your witnesses. Call the whole of Shildon if you like, I will hear them.”

The defending solicitor contented himself with four witnesses, each attesting that Mellor had been sober.

The bench imposed a fine of what then would have been three half crowns. Old Seven and Sixpence had struck again.