THE Bishop of Durham had said his farewells, another service satisfied, when - half-homeward through the door - he turned and re-accosted the column.

"You know everything there is to be known about the North-East," he began, as fine an episcopal overture as may ever have been imagined.

What the Rt Rev Michael Turnbull wanted to know - and we, inevitably, didn't - was how Archdeacon Newton came by its venerable name.

It's an historic hamlet a couple of miles west of Darlington and all but knocked down by the motorway. Ignorance notwithstanding, we were still able to inform the bishop that on Darlington's western hem there's a pub called the Archdeacon with a strong ecclesiastical connection.

When John Smith's brewery wanted a new pub sign in 1980, they persuaded Michael Perry - then Durham's affable Archdeacon - to pose, all gas and gaiters, for the artist.

His bishop approved, others didn't. "He'll have God to reckon with," an ironsided evangelist from Manchester spluttered into his Luzozade and lime.

Bishop Michael also recalled that there's a Michael Perry gargoyle in Durham Cathedral, possibly making Canon Perry the only commoner in history to feature on both pub sign and pillar.

A little research in Darlington library, however, reveals that the explanation for Archdeacon Newton is altogether more prosaic. There never was a senior cleric of that name - the land was leased from the Archdeacon of Durham. Medieval folk, as imaginative as today's town planners, simply called it Archdeacon New Town though "town" was fiercely optimistic.

Its heyday appears to have been in 1801, when the population soared to 72, pews were reserved for Archdeacon Newton folk at St Cuthbert's church in Darlington and a weekly Methodist service was held in a farmhouse kitchen.

At much the same time, an Archdeacon Newton farmer called Hilton Middleton, known as High Price Hilton because of the bargains he drove, bred a Durham ox so egregious that they named a pub after it.

The Newton Kyloe, long gone, was on Cockerton Green in Darlington. The Archdeacon remains a cockstride away, though Canon Perry's portrait has been replaced by something altogether more featureless. Canon Perry, author of countless books and expert on psychic phenomena, lives in retirement by the Wear in Durham but has been unavailable for reminiscence.

The present Bishop of Durham may have the benefit of these researches without charge. He can count it as a well earned retirement present.

FROM Abberwick to Yetlington, Ian Robinson's glossary of North-East place names, confirms Archdeacon Newton's "rather stately" origins. If a kyloe was an ox, however, what of Kelloe, that rather more substantial village east of Durham?

It's derived, says Ian, from the old English celf-hlaw, meaning "calf hill". Kyloe was "a clearing for grazing cattle" and Morton Tinmouth - the column's all-time favourite - is merely, disappointingly, a farmstead on the moor that belonged to the monastery at Tynemouth.

LAST week's column had one foot in the nave, too, chronicling the Great North Run attempt by Bills Simms and Ann Chapman, neighbouring parish priests in Wensleydale.

God bless 'em, said June Luckhurst in reply, but what about the Rev Richard Bainbridge?

Richard's a Methodist minister in the Bishop Auckland circuit. On Sunday he swapped sermon for starting pistol, ran the straight race in two hours 25 minutes, hopes to raise a substantial amount towards a new church in Witton Park.

Crucible of the campaign against Category D, Witton Park is experiencing a remarkable resurrection. Though the old chapel closed 15 years ago, there are plans to build a new one at a cost of £250,000.

"Before we start asking others for money we felt it necessary to raise around £25,000 ourselves," says Richard, who ran with Sue May, Pauline Gilroy-Rossi and Christine Proctor.

It was his first half marathon. "I wouldn't say I enjoyed every minute but it was a wonderful experience," he adds.

Bill Simms, 61-year-old Vicar of Hawes and former Darlington council personnel officer, got around in two hours 15 minutes and might have been faster - Ann Chapman did two hours five minutes - had he not been lured by a roadside ice cream seller.

"It was wonderful but must have added at least five minutes to my time," he says. "I'm not going to heaven unless there's trad jazz and ice cream."

IF the Great North Run's exhausted for another year, the World Conker Championships must follow hard upon.

They're again at the Royal in Trimdon Colliery this Sunday, awarded global status when someone once looked in from Wheatley Hill.

"They've been practising already," reveals landlady Susan Sanderson. "After they'd had a few drinks last Saturday they found a drill, took the laces out of their shoes and started away."

The Royal rumble has been held since 1998, and with undiminishing enthusiasm. "When we refurbished the pub we found conkers down seats and all over the place," says Susan.

The rules have been reprinted ("they were getting a bit tatty") if not necessary redrawn, previous years' conkers permitted so long as they remain virginal.

The cup's still for "Cokers" - "we were drunk as skunks when we did it," someone once explained - the top prize could be as much as £170. Gavin Mercer, conkering hero and four times champion, is favourite yet again.

The contest could last four or five hours. More of that old chestnut next time.

THOUGH it features on many old maps, no one has suggested how Cobblers Hall in Newton Aycliffe came by its name.

("Cobblers' awls", as the new Oxford Dictionary of Rhyming Slang confirms, is the origin of "A load of cobblers". A load of Henrys, after the band leader Henry Hall, never really caught on.)

These days, Cobblers Hall is a new, multi-faceted and highly impressive health centre on Newton Aycliffe's western frontier and the place where last Saturday we were invited to open a Welcome Day for Mencap.

As welcome as they'd have been, however, almost no one turned up - not even the Crown Prosecution Service (we name the guilty men) who'd promised to address issues affecting abuse of adults with learning difficulties but called off the previous day.

Still, we were grateful to Mencap regional officer David Davis for travellers' tales from his recent visit to Thailand, where he witnessed an elephants' football match.

"It's very big in Thailand," said David, as well (of course) it might be.

Games are only five-a-side - they'd need a bigger pitch for 11 - though David insists that the skill level's remarkably high and the goalkeepers, generally speaking, remain at their post.

Participating pachyderms have red or green identification on their foreheads, but since they're colour blind, it's purely for the benefit of spectators.

The players need no such visual aids. An elephant never forgets.

A SLANG bang through the Oxford Dictionary (OUP, £9 99) reveals few North-East connections, though "Jimmy Nail" has become a term for mail and a Harold (Macmillan) has long, apparently, been a villain.

Having a Captain's is nothing more than taking a look - in memory of Captain James Cook - and a hungry Cockney might suggest that he is Hank, thus striking a chord with Newcastle born Shadows guitarist Hank Marvin.

A Rolls is now a Camilla (Parker Bowles), a piece of pork (rather unkindly) a Duchess (of York) and - get this - a snort of Charlie (cocaine) a Boutros (Boutros-Ghali.)

One final North-East connection: that flawless North Yorkshire lass Selina Scott may be disturbed to learn that she is also in the Rhyming Slang dictionary. An outbreak of Selinas, however, is nothing worse than spots.