Yarm's way

YARM sits on the south bank of the Tees, sometimes a bit too close to it for comfort, in what was once the North Riding of Yorkshire. Some would argue that the ancient old town still is in North Yorkshire, others that it's in Cleveland or, worse yet, the Tees Valley.

Much changed and greatly grown, the place is probably best known for its handsome High Street, its annual gipsy fair, its stupendous railway viaduct and - latterly - as a base for footballers with inflated wage packets and, on occasion, egos to match.

Elizabeth Hope House, the oldest dwelling house in the town, is for sale through something 21st century called a "virtual tour"; a few yards away a notch above a garage door records high water mark of the Great Flood of 1881.

A church has stood by the Tees since Saxon times, the present St Mary Magdalene's - the third - consecrated in 1730 after fire destroyed its predecessor. True Lovers' Lane separates church from river.

There was no particular reason for attending, no great high day or anniversary, though it turned out that Isaac Roundtree - the curate's new son - had arrived three days earlier and would make a somnolent and much fussed over debut in church.

It also proved to be one of the friendliest, most welcoming and most vigorous churches in memory. Some good stories - ripping Yarms - too.

Pam Stredwick, one of the churchwardens, tells of the Frosterley marble font that was removed by the Roundheads and fished from the Tees 50 years later. It survived the fire, too.

"How on earth did they know where it was?", she not unreasonably supposes. "How on earth did they get it out?"

Pam also recalls John Winpenny who came to Yarm as curate in 1840, became Rector in 1866, stayed for a total of 56 years and was said to put on a particularly good funeral.

"He'd sometimes do four a day, even conduct funerals on Christmas Day," says Pam. "And that's a pretty good work rate, when you come to think about it."

Mary Parkinson, organist for 50 years until 2003, recalls how they once carried out roof repairs without diocesan permission, all very well until the Dean of York arrived and - as deans are wont to do - cast his eyes heavenwards.

Mary takes the point. "Remember your sins will always find you out," she smiles.

She's 87, retired music teacher, lived in Yarm all her life. "I think probably it's changed for the worse," she says. "It was much smaller, people still lived on the High Street and shopped on the cobbles.

"You knew almost everyone in the village and almost everyone in church. You knew those who sang in tune and those who didn't. There's still a good community spirit, but it's just not possible to know everyone now."

About 100 are present, fewer than usual. "You can tell the summer holidays have started," announces Simon Gurd, the rector. A swift survey suggests that no professional footballers are present though it's possible, of course, that there are footballers' wives.

Who knows what THEY get up to on a weekend.

The Rev Clabern Roundtree, who's from the American mid-west, sits at the back with the bairns. Peter Elliott, a 75-year-old non-stipendiary curate who may be familiar to Hear All Sides readers, helps with the service.

Peter writes on all sorts of subjects, but not least the absurdities of municipal nomenclature. "I was born and brought up in West Hartlepool and I really get quite cross that we've lost our Co Durham identity," he says.

"These days we're Tees Valley. What on earth is that?"

A chemist by training, he thought about writing when a lecturer returned an essay. "He said it was a load of waffle, I probably should have been a journalist," he adds, wickedly.

It's the Feast of the Transfiguration, the service beginning with a jaunty version of At the Name of Jesus, the prayers remembering "God's travelling people" - all of us, presumably, not just those who yearly camp in Yarm High Street - and that it's 61 years to the day since Hiroshima was bombed.

Though Master Roundtree sleeps soundly, other bairns in a well-equipped children's corner are becoming a bit boisterous. It's a familiar dilemma - how greatly should little children be suffered during a church service? - and another old problem is that the handsome Georgian church again needs urgent repairs.

A £150,000 project, substantially funded by English Heritage but also by constant fund raising by a willing congregation, will enable the restoration of much of the stonework and, they hope, pin the tower back to the main building before it further adds to the detritus in the Tees.

The Rector admits conflicting feelings. "It's lovely to have an old building with a wonderful atmosphere, but if we didn't have the responsibility for its upkeep we could do much more so far as mission is concerned.

"We couldn't knock it down and wouldn't want to, but it cramps us very much. Luckily, we have a splendid team here. The things which the congregation does for each other and for other people are incredible."

The service lasts about 70 minutes, followed by coffee and much conversation. Baby Isaac is thinking about his inaugural Sunday lunch; after a good morning, St Mary's will eventually join him.