The great Arthur Puckrin, as last week’s column noted, had wanted three hymns at his funeral and a party to follow it. Even the for the insuperable Iron Man, the first bit seemed a bit tricky in a half-hour time slot at Teesside Crematorium.

He’d chosen Abide With Me, Onward Christian Soldiers and The Old Rugged Cross – “till my trophies at last I lie down.”

That bit seemed particularly appropriate, though it’s doubtful if the hymn writer had in mind the rather large collection of Aztec human sacrifice carvings with which Arthur’s global triumphs had improbably been rewarded.

The psalm, about lifting eyes to the hills, seemed pretty apposite, too.

It was embraced within 27 minutes, if not a personal best, as an athlete might suppose, then a dignified and fitting occasion.

The party was at the Blue Bell in Acklam, down the road. Since Arthur had insisted upon posthumously picking up the tab, that went fine, too.

Such ultra-athleticism clearly runs (and runs) in the family. Eleanor Robinson, Arthur’s sister, had been aiming for the world duathlon title in Denmark – “a podium finish at least” – when she fell of her broke and fractured her hip. Seven weeks later, she attended the final without sticks. The next world event’s in the spring, when Eleanor will be 71. “I want to win it for Arthur,” she said.

The magnificent ultra runner Sharon Gayter, also among the mourners, has postponed until next spring her planned world record attempt on the run from John o’ Groats to Lands End.

“I’m still no more than 90 per cent fit,” says Sharon – ageless, but now 54 – though the former bus driver from Guisborough still came fifth out of 260 starters in a recent 50-mile event.

“We began at 8.30am on one of the hottest days of the year,” says Sharon, now a lecturer at Teesside University, who wore a red vest for the occasion.

“It was so that my husband Bill could see me,” she says, but what they say about red rag to a bull also applies to midges and their insatiable kin. “Talk about seeing red, they absolutely ate me alive.”

Last week’s column wondered which cricketer might own 1 BAT, and the very sporty number upon which the registration was spotted, parked in Durham. Dom Murray, a reader, reckons that, last he heard, it wasn’t a batter at all but a local solicitor with those initials. If ever she decides to lay down the law, the retirement fund’s on the front of the motor.

Twice a referee at the World Cup finals, George Courtney – now a finely honed 77 – spoke last Wednesday at Durham Age UK’s monthly men’s breakfast.

They’d asked for 20 minutes, George talked for 45. Had he had a cup of tea and come out again for the second half, none would have minded a bit.

Someone had even brought along a volume called “You’re off”, sub-titled “The Big Book of Red Cards”, slightly disappointed to discover that George didn’t feature.

It did, however, recall the dismissive incident at the Newcastle United v Aston Villa match in 2005 when United team mates Lee Bowyer and Kieron Dyer were sent off for wrestling one another –“Greco-Roman style,” it’s claimed.

George, famously as fit as a butcher’s dog, created another record. At the customarily carnivorous men’s breakfast, he was the first person in history to order scrambled eggs.

A swift PS to last week’s note on Cockerton Cricket Club’s 125th anniversary. Long serving club secretary Richard Cowan notes in the 2018 year book that, shortly before the season began they agreed to host a Holi day – “a Hindu springtime festival characterised by boisterous revelry,” says Chambers.

So, boisterously, it proved. Though there was much throwing of powder paint over one another – “the pavilion took some tidying up,” says Richard – he happened to be on the ground fixing the scarifier and was treated to a splendidly spicy lunch.

“The Indians had fun, so everyone was a winner.”

Don Clarke spots a tweet from Durham cricketer Chris Rushworth after being told that a chap of 102 was watching his first county match. “I thought it was bloody amazing so thought I’d say hello and say how much we appreciated him coming.” Rushworth also handed over one of his shirts and was suitable thanked: another Durham centurion.

Barely on the map these days, Philadelphia – that community near Houghton-le-Spring where the cricket club’s celebrating its sesquicentennial – continues to command column inches here.

David Burniston in Darlington confirms the column’s recollection that Phili had a big steam engine presence – home of the Lambton Engine Works, headquarters of the Lambton, Hetton and Joicey Railway and, around 1970, to 60007 Sir Nigel Gresley, one of the greatest locomotives of all.

The mighty Sir Nigel, David recalls, was housed in a single road building just about long enough to shelter it – until the unfortunate day that it destroyed the end wall.

….and finally, the only Wimbledon women’s singles winner in the past 100 years who was a mother at the time (Backtrack, July 19) was Evonne Goolagong, in 1980. Mum’s the word, Terry Simpson in Darlington was first with the answer.

Since next week marks the start of England’s 1,000th test match, readers are today invited to name the player who has scored most runs for the country, made most appearances and the most as captain.

They’re one and the same. The answer next week.