IT is funny how Echo Memories’ stories from the dim and distant past still have a revelance today.

For example, Sir John Duck was born in 1634, which is so long ago that even Durham City has all but forgotten him, even though he is supposed to be Durham’s own Dick Whittington.

But in the north of the county, there are, this Christmas, about 60 pensioners still benefiting from Sir John’s generosity.

In 1685, Sir John bought land at Great Lumley and, using money from his mining rights, he built a hospital/ almshouse for the “sustenance and relief of 12 poor and impotent widows”.

The widows’ rooms were built around a square with a yard and a pump in the middle.

They also had a small chapel, where prayers were read daily.

The gates to the hospital were closed each evening, after which there was no admittance, preventing the widows from getting up to anything too naughty.

Sir John ensured that the hospital had an annual income – in his day £40 – from his land and fishing rights.

What had been comfortable in the 17th Century was not fit for the 20th. The oil lamps were replaced with electricity in 1928 as the trustees struggled to bring the hospital up to date. In March 1960, they gave up the struggle and, after 274 years, the Hospital of John Duck of Great Lumley was demolished.

Its site in Back Lane, on the western edge of the village, is now a field although it is commemorated by a rather striking monument.

Several people have been in touch following the articles to say that there is still a Duck charity in Lumley. Sir John’s money is invested in the Charity Commission’s common investment fund and the interest is used to deliver about 60 food parcels to elderly and needy people in the parish.

This year’s parcels were distributed earlier this month.

■ With thanks to Gill Stephenson.

THE page of pictures in Echo Memories taken from Tom Hutchinson’s new book Glimpses of Shildon reminded Bill Luke, in Easingwold, North Yorkshire, that he had a book of Fragments collected by a Methodist preacher in the town.

The Fragments were published in a booklet in 1952, presumably to raise money for Shildon’s Wesley Church, by Stan Mitchell.

Stan was a preacher who toured the North, gathering bon mots and sayings, usually of a religious nature.

He was obviously well connected, as one of the fragments is from Charles Grey, the City of Durham MP from 1945 to 1970.

Another is from Yorkshireman Wilfred Pickles, one of whose claims to fame was that he was the first BBC newsreader to have a regional accent.

That led to his sign-off catchphrase: “And to all in the North, good neet.”

Most of the fragments, though, came from Shildon.

Here’s a selection:

Mrs L Harnby, St John’s Rd

A diamond may glitter and flash like a star.

But the smile of a friend is brighter by far.

Wilfred Pickles, BBC London

He never pushed the garden door,

He left no footmarks on the floor,

I never heard Him stir nor tread.

And yet His hand do bless my head.

Margaret Leng, aged six, Kilburn Street

I really think, the dormouse said,

if only I had wings,

I’d fly away and leave

The cold and other nasty things.

Miss A Evans, Leeholme

If everybody sowed seeds of kindness. What a garden of happiness life would be.

Mr CF Grey MP, Hetton-le-Hole

I tear out the page of past errors,

And hide them away in life’s tomb,

I reach out clean hands, and lead on to lands,

Where the lilies of peace are in bloom.

Mrs TW Heatherington, Soho Cottage

There’s something that’s humbling and simple,

Something direct and grand,

In owning a patch of garden,

And working it with your hands.

Mr WA Jennings, Annfield Plain

Thirty-two sat in a bus,

and four stood in the aisle,

Some were glad and four were sad

For the journey was nine mile.

A youth in the bus suggested a scheme,

To share the seats was his theme,

This they did and through his wheeze

For eight miles of the way

They all sat at ease.

Mr A Hetherington, Aycliffe School

Three fragile sacramental things

Endure, though all this pomp shall pass;

A butterfly’s immortal wings,

A daisy, and a blade of grass.

Mrs Hewitson, Darlington

God gives every bird its food,

But He does not throw it into the nest.

Mrs I Prentice, Darlington

Some folks are just like angels – always harping about something