Players from one of the North-East's great post-war club cricket sides gathered on Sunday for a reunion. The spur, as so often happens, was someone else's funeral.

They talked of the Golden Age, of heady days and drunken nights, compared replacement hips and gammy knees and other ravages of age and athleticism.

They talked, too, of the ten ways in which it is possible for a cricketer to be out, until reminded by Ray Burridge, huge and hearty, that there was an eleventh. "Chet out," said Ray, and doubtless said it from experience.

The play-it-again gathering of the Sunderland side from 1964-73 had chiefly been organised by Brian Thirkell, now in Killinghall, near Harrogate. "Most of them were quite easy to track down," he said. "The only problem was with John Beresford who thought I was trying to sell him insurance."

Sunderland had won the Durham Senior League in four successive summers from 1965-68, and again in 1971 and 1973. They won the Saunders Cup three times; most of them also played, or had played, for Durham County.

"They were a great side by any standards," concluded a 1983 brochure published to mark the 175th anniversary of cricket in Sunderland.

Alec Coxon, the man they'd mourned earlier this year, had finished playing by then, but the former Yorkshire and England all rounder's influence was the inspiration behind Sunderland's success.

He'd opened an indoor cricket school in a former rifle range in Silksworth, particularly strong on batting, saw a generation come good together.

Someone had run off little reunion posters on a computer. "Coxon's Angels," they said.

"He was brilliant with children, they worshipped him, but not so good at forming relationships with adults" said former opening batsman Frank Greenshields. "Alec fell out with more committees than the world has ever known."

The resurgence had begun in 1964 with the arrival of ex-Somerset man Ken Biddulph as professional. "The arrival of Alan Burridge in 1966 turned a good side into a formidable one," said the 1983 brochure.

Now "Budgie" Burridge and almost all his team mates were back on the Ashbrooke ground, home to Sunderland cricket - and many other sports - since 1887.

Its gate was still of the camel and eye of a needle variety, its rambling corridors rich and redolent with sporting history.

Frank Greenshields wore what appeared to be cricket boots but may have been making a fashion statement, brothers David and Henry McLaren still had hands like mechanical shovels, fast bowler Stan Stoker - bespectacled, then as now - was reckoned the most difficult to find, though he's only in Middridge.

Peter Birtwisle, they reckoned, had changed least. He's now 60 and part-time national coach in Spain. "We're rated third in Europe," said the man they knew as Bertie. "The Spanish are naturally athletic and competitive."

Budgie, Ray's brother, was also trying to promote a "seniors" world tour in 2008. "All the places you've ever wanted to go back to," he promised.

"What," someone said, "Horden?"

Beer and conversation flowed freely, old cuttings were flourished - "Harbour collapse in amazing finish," "Birtwisle leads Sunderland run riot", "Sunderland make it thanks to Thirkell."

"I don't know if you can print this," said Ray Burridge - Alan's brother - "but we used to name a So-and-so's side from opposing players as well."

Since he didn't exactly use the term "So-and-so's" it couldn't be printed at all - but half of them, insisted Ray, were from Philadelphia.

Frank Greenshields, still a solicitor in Sunderland, recalled a trip to Kilmarnock in the national knock-out cup. Rained off at home, they arrived at their opponents' ground early on Saturday evening for a Sunday match.

"Kilmarnock's sole aim was to get us mortal on the night before the match and I have to say they succeeded," said Frank.

"I said I'd have a half and a half in Killy is a whole and a whole is whisky. I didn't remember too much after that."

Batting second the following day, they were 17-0 after 17 overs - Gordon Fairley 14, extras 3, Greenshields 0 - when he inadvertently ran out his partner. Mike Westcott, the much respected skipper, strode to the wicket.

"I could hear his invective from 40 yards away, but I just couldn't get the ball off the square," said Frank. "When he was out for eight and I still wasn't off the mark, I heard his invective for 40 yards the other way as well." They won.

Westcott, a Brearley among captains, was the son of Ashbrooke's full-time secretary, who played cricket, hockey and rugby there. "I was brought up here," said Mike. "If I wasn't outside watching, I was in the dressing room or the bar."

Frank Greenshields also presented the skipper with the Durham Senior League tankard for most catches in 1974, which he'd been unable to accept at the time and had been in an office drawer ever since. To general disappointment, he didn't drop it.

"We had a hugely talented team but we also had a fantastic camaraderie," said Mike. "After 30-odd years, you can see it's still intact."

The golden age ended in 1973. By then, of course, Sunderland was finally getting itself a football team

another reunion on Thursday evening, Bishop Auckland FC's side of the sixties again with their feet beneath the same table as Lawrie McMenemy, who from 1965-67 was their manager.

The mighty Bishops had never had a manager before, the team picked - nit-picked, possibly - by the committee.

Big Lawrie recalled his first match, a committee man sauntering in through one dressing room door, wishing them "Good afternoon" in the middle of his team talk and sauntering out of the other. So it continued, until he locked the doors.

"Anyone who could keep the committee out earned respect," he said.

Bob Thursby was at the do, and George Siddle, still in upholstery. Michael Barker was there, puffing away at his pipe, Peter Cooke and goalkeeper Terry Kirkbride, who McMenemy still reckons could have made it as a singer.

The big feller, one of eight from a good Catholic family in Gateshead, is 70 now and still on the board at Southampton - slate grey, genial, almost avuncular, delighted to be back where they speak the same language.

He talked of the three-times replayed FA Cup first round match with Blyth Spartans, of losing at Halifax in the second - "I was a bit upset, we left the Northern Echo reporter behind" - of his regrets at not taking the Manchester United job when it was offered.

What he hardly talked about at all was his time at Sunderland, preferring - as probably they say in Low Fell - to get in the first bat. "I had a horrendous time," he said. "I was absolutely bloody useless. End of story."

. . . . and from the "Sporting quotes" section of last week's North Shields FC programme: "When you're leading 4-0, you don't expect to get beat 7-1" - Lawrie McMenemy.

Birds and stones for former Premiership referee Jeff Winter on Saturday, covering the Marske United v Skelmersdale FA Cup tie for 96.6 TFM Radio while watching his son Craig - old block, if ever - in Marske's defence.

The bad news is that Marske lost, the better news that the ubiquitous Mr Winter has been named "Soccer speaker of the year" .

The award, in memory of the late Jackie Blanchflower - a wonderful after-dinner turn - is run by a big booking agency. Jeff was in competition with John McGovern, Frank McAvennie and John Aldridge before an invited audience, who voted after 15 minutes from each.

Jeff - "I don't miss refereeing, far too much politics" - admits it'll look good on his cv. "It might," he concedes, "put a tenner on my fee, as well."

Beneath the headline "Omens", Saturday's Guardian reported that Kirsty Young's arrival as Desert Island Discs' new presenter boded well for a British winner of the Great North Run. When Michael Parkinson replaced founding father Roy Plomley in 1985, Steve Kenyon won the GNR. Though no Briton has been first home since, the closest was in 1988 when Ireland's John Treacy won - the year that Parkinson was replaced by Sue Lawley, who's just stepped aside. Ominous or otherwise, Sunday's main event was won by Henrick Ramaala, a South African.

there is much else to report, including a momentous title defence for the George and Dragon in Heighington in the British 5s and 3s championship and further memories of Winterton Hospital football. Since space precludes, however, such things must wait until Friday.

And finally...

Last Friday's column sought the identity of the Scottish league team which began life as Ferranti Thistle, to which the answer (as several knew) was Livingstone - Meadowbank Thistle between times.

It reminded John Milburn in Chester-le-Street of when he went to watch Hibs, in Edinburgh, for the first time, followed the floodlights he'd seen from the train and ended up at Meadowbank.

Fred Alderton in Peterlee today seeks the identity of the only Premiership manager who's been an innkeeper.

Public property again in three days.