From Horden to Hollywood

From Horden to Hollywood, an autobiography might be called, or - since many of his roles were western villains - Local Lad Makes Baddie.

Neither, however, could begin to tell the remarkable story of John "Basher" Alderson, brought to light in an unexpected letter from America.

He'll be 85 in April, fit and well and living in an actors' retirement home in Hollywood. "My greatest achievement," he says - for Basher Alderson is a manifestly modest man - "was escorting Catherine Zeta Jones around this wonderful residence of ours."

A few weeks ago he also attended an 80th birthday celebration for Maureen O'Hara, perhaps the Catherine Zeta Jones of her day.

His story has re-surfaced because of an almost passing reference in local councillor Paul Stradling's millennium book on Horden - "100 years in 39 pages" says Paul, and a 4,000 copy sell-out.

"I blush with shame to see myself listed as Horden's film star," wrote Basher, after a cousin in Peterlee sent him the book, but that's what he is, nonetheless.

"I'd heard of him, of course," says Paul, "but had simply no idea what an amazing man he was."

Horden's on the Durham coast near Peterlee, a former mining community where the streets are still numbered from First to Umpteenth and the Conservative Club continues, improbably. The Aldersons lived in Seventh Street, next to the Institute, and attended the Primitive Methodist church.

His father, almost inevitably, was a pitman, though young John vowed never to go underground.

"I did go down Horden for a couple of weeks when my dad was sick and in hospital. It fulfilled all the horrors my brothers had talked about, so I quickly ran off and joined the army," he says. He told them he had been born in 1914 ("they would have anybody in those days"), was a Royal Artillery sergeant instructor when war broke out, rose to major - "it proved I was a good actor by wriggling through the ranks" - and served in Berlin throughout the blockade.

The general's secretary was called Mary Brown. "Mary swears that the best thing about the wedding was that it changed her name," he says, though it was Basher Alderson who not only had to register as a male war bride before embarking to the USA but hjad to sign a declaration that he was no more than five months pregnant.

Though he is a man of many, many parts, he might best be remembered as Sergeant Bullock in Boots and Saddles, the late 1950s television western series - sub-titled The Story of the Fifth Cavalry - that also featured Captain Shank Adams and Lt Col Hayes, though neither of them hailed from Horden.

(Memories: the same page of the television guide includes The Borgias, Bootsie and Snudge and, bless him, Bonehead.)

So Basher went to Hollywood, appearing early on alongside Audrey Hepburn in My Fair Lady - "a lovely, charming and compassionate lady whom I sorely miss."

He was in Double Trouble with Elvis Presley ("I never enjoyed working with anyone more"), Catch a Thief with Cary Grant and Grace Kelly ("a wonderful pair of decent and good people") and No Name on the Bullet, with Audie Murphy.

"We spent all our time swapping war stories and handicapping horse races," he recalls.

John Wayne became a close friend after The Hellfighters, Angie Dickenson still visits frequently ("always good for a big hug"), Richard Burton three times shared a cast list.

One of the websites even reckons he starred in the 1976 version of It Shouldn't Happen to a Vet, but it's possible they mean John Alderton.

"I guest starred in 75 per cent of all the television westerns," says Basher, "usually as a heavy."

Paul Stradling doesn't come the heavy at all. "Mr Alderson," he says, "sounds absolutely wonderful."

THOUGH his credits are numerous, it has proved impossible to obtain a picture of John Alderson in action.

Not even that incomparable film buff Tony Hillman can help, not even the Boots and Saddles Annual - if such exists - 1959. There's a library photograph of Barney Hudson, though.

Barney was another out of the Hordenary, became one of the biggest names in British rugby league, hadn't so much as kicked an oval ball until he was 17. Basher Alderson remembers well his debut.

"One day the rugby union team showed up with three players short and Barney, my brother Billy and Charlie Gelded were called from the sidelines to fill the team."

(It's possible, incidentally, that Charlie's real name was Geldard. Not many men answer to being Gelded.) "Each was given shorts and jersey and played in the mud with ordinary shoes," recalls John Alderson. "Even then Barney was sensational."

Three years later he joined Salford Rugby League Club, enticed from the pit by the money and the fresh air and was Salford's top scorer in eight of the following ten seasons - a player, they reckon, in the mould of the great Billy Boston.

In 1932 and 1936 he toured Australia with the British Lions, won many England caps and is still affectionately remembered in Horden Big Club, not least for his team mates' capacity for drink.

Barney became the Mayor of Salford's chauffeur and died around 30 years ago. Horden nurtured other notable sportsman like Stan Anderson - the only man to captain each of the North-East's big three football clubs - Bob Taylor and the Mordue brothers, reckoned world handball champions.

"The Tim Henman and Greg Rusedski of handball," says Paul Stradling and ponders anew.

"I really don't know," he says, "how I got them all into a 39 page book."

THE bus to work goes from Scotch Corner. Not least because of the vagaries of the timetable, we spend ages there, standing - as dear old Aunty Betty used to say - like one o'clock half struck.

It is seriously insalubrious, rubbish choked and stinking.

The long held notion that Scotch Corner bus shelter isn't fit to keep pigs in, however, may soon be put to the test. For reasons unexplained, seven big bags of piglet food were left there a week ago and have remained ever since. As the wait for the bus lengthens, we have even taken to reading the food bags in an attempt to pass the time.

There is Elite pig food, Premier, Choice and Classic. The people who write menus ("hand picked golden scampi drizzled with a honeydew mayo and laid on a bed of tangy lettuce") could take lessons from those who produce pig food.

It was on the fifth day, however, that a thought - pearls before swine - occurred. Above the largely ignored rubbish receptacle is the single word "Litter".

Litter, understand, as in brood of young porkers. The louts think it's fit for pigs to live in, after all.

...and finally, the column has once or twice of late used the phrase "as smart as a carrot". Smart as a parrot, too, which wasn't as misprintable as might appear.

So what, asks Roger Cliff from Low Coniscliffe, near Darlington - "where the only carrots at this time of year are those from the local supermarket" - is so smart about that particular root vegetable?

While he's on about it, Roger notes mysteriously that Collop Monday will soon be upon us. Is it, perhaps, the day before Pancake Tuesday and Ash Wednesday or a feast closer to the beloved Carlin Sunday?

Other learned readers may be able to help. Carrot and stick, more - with luck - next time.

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