Bob Stokoe of Mickley (c.NZ075621)

Mickley, Northumberland, is not a very large village. It is known, historically, as the birthplace of the famous engraver, Thomas Bewick (at nearby Cherryburn Farm); but should, perhaps, be even better known for spawning one of the most celebrated football figures the region has ever produced: Bob Stokoe.

The man is a Sunderland legend, of course, having managed the Wearsiders to that most unexpected FA Cup Final victory over the then mighty Leeds United in 1973. But he is closely linked with Newcastle United, too, having won the cup with the black ‘n’ whites as a player in 1955. In between these two momentous occasions he managed a string of lower league clubs with a varying degree of success.

Robert Stokoe was born at Mickley on 21^st September 1930 into a typical North-East mining community – in fact he was the son of a miner. He joined Newcastle United in 1947 as an apprentice, scored on his debut in 1950, and went on to play 288 matches for the club – mainly at centre-half, and punctuated by that 3-1 Cup Final win over Man City in 1955. He left for Bury in 1960, joining initially as player-manager, then concentrating on management.

He remained at Bury for five years – famously refusing a bribe, he claimed, from Leeds manager Don Revie to ‘throw’ a match. He then managed Charlton, Rochdale, Carlisle and Blackpool, before quietly taking charge at Sunderland in 1972. Then a second tier club, they shocked the football world by beating the imperious Leeds United 1-0 in the ’73 Cup Final – and a stunned nation watched Stokoe dash across the Wembley turf on the final whistle adorned in raincoat and trilby to embrace match hero, ‘keeper Jim Montgomery.

After he left Sunderland in 1976, he moved in and out of various posts over the following decade – and, astonishingly, was never sacked at any of the twelve clubs he managed. He retired in 1987 – ironically overseeing Sunderland’s only ever relegation to the third tier of English football.

He died in Hartlepool in 2004, aged 73.

The Angel of the North (NZ263578)

© Copyright Keith Evans and licensed for reuse 

under this Creative Commons Licence.

Date completed: 1998

Commissioned by: Gateshead Council

Artist: Antony Gormley

Made by: Hartlepool Steel Fabrications Ltd

Cost: £800,000+ (National Lottery)

Construction: Steel, with some copper

Height: 65ft

Wingspan: 175ft

Weight: 208 tonnes

Foundations: 22m deep reinforced concrete piles

… And seen by 33 million people per year!

Why not come along to...

The National Family History Fair

NEWCASTLE-UPON-TYNE

Saturday 7th September 2013

Football’s First Lord (NZ237490)

In the little village of Edmondsley, a mile or so north of Sacriston, was born the first professional footballer to become a Member of the House of Lords. He began life as Thomas Burlison in 1936, and ended it as Baron Burlison of Rowlands Gill in 2008.

Our man’s extraordinary rise to prominence began in humble enough fashion – as a panel beater, in fact – before exploiting his footballing skills as a pro at Lincoln City, Hartlepool and Darlington during 1953-1965 as a wing half. When playing for Hartlepool, they were once thrashed 10-1 by Wrexham, and Burlison would later joke: “That was the day when I knew I would never play for England.”

Never far from his working class roots, he then became a regional officer at the General & Municipal Workers’ Union (later the GMB) – and eventually regional secretary in 1978. From then until deep into the 1990s he operated at the highest levels within this powerful union, but never quite reached the post of general secretary. He was a quiet man, maintaining a low-profile, but became known as ‘The Fixer’ on account of his sprawling network of contacts and wide general influence.

He served as treasurer to the Labour Party during 1992-96, was northern region chairman of the TUC and helped many prominent politicians on their way to the top – Tony Blair included. He was vital in the formulation of ‘New Labour’, having spent much of his political career countering the radical activities of the left.

By then a resident of Rowlands Gill, he was created a life peer in 1997 and moved into the House of Lords as ‘Baron Burlison of Rowlands Gill’. ‘Hurlyburly Burlison’, as he was known, was married with two children, and died in Gateshead in 2008.

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Hartlepool’s Submerged Forest (NZ520315 & thereabouts)

On the foreshore at Hartlepool, and a little to the south towards Seaton Carew, lies an expanse of ancient submerged forest dating to around 6-8,000 years ago.  It isn’t always submerged: the occasional harsh winter scouring brings it to the surface once every decade or so, when it then makes the news for a short period before disappearing from view.

In Mesolithic times, this little corner of the North-East was covered with woodland and peat bog – and extended a good way out to sea, too, with Britain, at the time, still connected to mainland Europe via a chunky land-bridge.  When the sea level rose, the forest was flooded, and the present-day coastline slowly developed. 

Several archaeological investigations have taken place in the area in recent decades, during which time worked flints and lines of stakes, etc., have been discovered, including a two-metre stretch of wattle hurdling dated to 3,600BC.  In 1971, the remains of a Neolithic man were found in nearby peat deposits.

But ancient remains have always been coming to the surface, ever since the 18^th and 19^th century development work in and around the town.  And records show, in fact, that a ‘wood of Hartlepool’ still existed as recently as the 13^th century.

It is now a Site of Special Scientific Interest. 

More info here, and a picture of one of the famous stumps can be found here.

Heugh Battery (NZ532338)

Heugh Gun Battery was built on Hartlepool Headland from 1859, when fears of a French attack on the British mainland were rife.  Nine guns were placed in three locations, though not all emplacements remain.  The original guns had a range of about a mile and a half, but were never fired in anger.

In the 1880s and 1890s the weapons were upgraded, then at the turn of the century a major overhaul of the whole site took place with substantial restructuring in concrete – most of which remains today.  The new guns which were fitted at this time had a range of over seven miles and, thanks to the uncertainties of 20^th century international relations, were kept primed until the mid 1950s.

In 1914, they became the only British mainland guns to engage a 20^th century enemy when they exchanged blows with German warships who were having a pop at the nearby town.  During WWII, the guns were upgraded again, doubling their range, but were never used.  Eventually, the defences were, of course, rendered useless by the development of long-range nuclear missiles, and the battery was closed in 1956.

[Information taken from the Heugh Battery Museum website]

Harvest Time at the Harbour (NZ522338)

Such was the decline in the fortunes of Hartlepool’s once renowned harbour, that by the dawn of the nineteenth century it was out of commission entirely.

Incredibly, in 1808, a ‘grant of the harbour’ was made to an individual, who immediately enclosed the silted expanse for the purpose of agriculture.  The enterprising maritime farmer successfully grew corn on the huge slake for some time, whilst arguments raged about the state of the once great port and its protective, but crumbling, pier – the storms of 1810 further heightening tensions.

In 1813, local citizen and burgess, William Vollum, indicted the enclosure as a nuisance by way of a petition.  The case went to court in Durham and a verdict delivered in his and the town’s favour – and the harbour was saved.  In time, and after many more years of debate, the area was returned to its watery state thanks to the demands of the industrial revolution.

Fish-waste and Tatties (NZ528338)

Despite being a thriving port of some importance for many centuries, Hartlepool was in general decline during the eighteenth century.  Before its dramatic recovery during the Victorian era, its population numbered no more than a thousand or so, all of whom were crammed into what we now know as The Headland.  During the sleepy 1700s, the town tried, not altogether successfully, to tempt folk to its bracing climes by way of medicinal springs, particularly the iron-salt spa near the Westgate.  For some reason, Thomas Gray, the famous poet, visited in July 1765 to take the waters, and wrote to his friend Dr Wharton:

I have been for two days to taste the water, and do assure you that nothing could be salter (sic) and bitterer and nastier and better for you... I am delighted with the place; there are the finest walks and rocks and caverns.

Some weeks later, he wrote again:

The rocks, the sea and the weather there more than made up to me the want of bread and the want of water, two capital defects, but of which I learned from the inhabitants not to be sensible. They live on the refuse of their own fish-market, with a few potatoes, and a reasonable quantity of Geneva [gin] six days in the week, and I have nowhere seen a taller, more robust or healthy race: every house full of ruddy broad-faced children. Nobody dies but of drowning or old-age: nobody poor but from drunkenness or mere laziness.

He wasn’t the only one impressed with the locals.  Isambard Kingdom Brunel remarked in 1831, on the eve of the settlement’s industrialisation:

A curiously isolated old fishing town – a remarkably fine race of men. Went to the top of the church tower for a view.

If only he were able to climb the steps of St.Hilda’s tower now and see the difference.

Monkey News (NZ528338)

With apologies to natives of Hartlepool, who must be heartily sick of the tale…

The Fishermen Hung the Monkey, Oh!

During the Napoleonic Wars the sole survivor of a wrecked French ship – an innocent monkey – was supposedly washed ashore at Hartlepool.  He was promptly hung by the local fishermen for fear of him being a spy.  The story was captured in song by Tyneside artist Ned Corvan in the 1860s.  Many versions of the song prevail – here is one.

In former times ‘mid war an’ strife,
When French invasion threaten’d life,
An’ all was arm’d up te the knife,
The fishermen hung the monkey, Oh!
The fishermen wi’ courage high,
They seiz’d the monkey for a spy,
Hang him, says yen; says another, he’ll die,
They did, an’ they hung the monkey, oh!

They tried ivery means to myek him speak,
They tortured the monkey tiv he loud did squeak,
Say yen that’s French, another it’s Greek,
For the fishermen they got drunkey, oh!
He’s all ower hair sum cheps did cry,
E’en up te summic cut and sly,
Wiv a cod’s head then they closed an eye,
Afore they hung the monkey, oh!

Some the monkey’s fate they did bewail,
For all the speechless pug had his tail (tale),
He’d be better off i’ Durham jail,
For the monkey wis tornin’ funkey, oh!
They said he myed sum curose mugs,
When they shaved his heed an’ cut off his lugs,
Sayin’ that’s the game for French humbugs,
Afore they hung the monkey, oh!

Hammer his ribs the thunnerin’ thief,
Pummel his pyet weel wi’ yor neef,
He’s landed there for nobbit grief,
He’s aud Napoleon’s unkey, oh!
Thus to the monkey all hands behaved,
Cut off his whiskers one chep raved,
Another bawled oot he’s niver been shaved,
So they commenc’d to scrape the monkey, oh!

They put him on a gridiron hot,
The monkey then quite lively got,
He rowl’d his eyes tiv a’ the lot,
For the monkey agyen turned funkey, oh!
Then a fisherman up te monkey goes,
Saying hang him at yence, an’ end his woes,
But the monkey flew at him and bit off his nose,
An’ that raised the poor man’s monkey, oh!

Now let us hope that iver at sea,
We’ll still maintain sovereignty,
May France and England lang agree,
An’ niver at each other git funkey, oh!
As regards poor Pug, aa’ve had me say,
His times they’ve past for mony a day,
But in Hartlepool noo, thoo’ll hear them say:
Whe hung the monkey, oh?

[Note:   Nobbit - nothing but;   funkey - in a passion]

The fame of the Hartlepool monkey was spread nationwide by Hartlepool Rovers’ rugby team who, during the 1890s, adopted a stuffed monkey as a mascot and hung it from the crossbar before each match.

Cramlington’s Airships (NZ254782)

In its pre-‘New Town’ days, Cramlington was a good deal smaller than it is today. It was essentially rural for centuries; and even after the first coal pit was sunk there in the 1820s it remained modest in size.

However, in 1916, the town was selected as the site for the establishment of the ‘No.36 Home Defence Squadron’, with the protection of the coast south from Cramlington all the way down to Whitby coming under its remit. There was already a small base on the site, so the move was more of an ‘upgrade’, and it did its bit during the Great War by bringing down a zeppelin over Hartlepool in November 1916. When the airships were withdrawn from the skies, the base reverted to a training camp and the squadron was disbanded in 1919. Though the outfit has been reformed and disbanded several times since, its base was never again to be sited at Cramlington.

But the town is perhaps more famously remembered in aviation history as the home of a British airship landing ground and shed, from the latter stages of WWI to the 1930s. At a time when Britain was looking for ways to provide additional aerial scouting cover over the North Sea at the height of WWI, a site near Nelson Village to the NW of Cramlington was selected as a landing/technical site for our ‘Submarine Scout’ airships. However, the facility was not completed in time to be of any use during hostilities, with the war coming to an end before the base was finished.

The site was still completed, though, and some post-war activity did take place. But the complex was eventually taken over by a private company, who themselves constructed a modest airship which did some aerial photography and advertising during 1929-30 – before being lost in a storm over Belgium.

And that seems to have been that, with the giant airship shed surviving until the 1960s when it was demolished as part of Cramlington’s ‘New Town’ development.

See here for further information and some pics.

 

North Blyth Staithes (c.NZ314823)

If, like me, you love seeing the North-East depicted in old movies, then you’ll know all about the classic British gangster flick, Get Carter. A marvellous 1971 effort – if for no other reason than to see so much of the region as it was forty years ago – the closing scenes are famously acted out on Blackhall Beach, just north of Hartlepool.

However, the scene immediately preceding the ‘beach chase’ between Michael Caine and Ian Hendry (where the two are seen scrambling over giant coal staithes, before progressing to the beach) was actually filmed thirty miles north, at what used to be North Blyth Staithes. Nowadays, there ain’t much to see on the seafront at the Blyth estuary – and it is really quite peaceful; but at one time it was a hive of activity. As recently as the early 1960s, it was Europe’s busiest port for shipping coal, with five sets of staithes and numerous other loading points. But the subsequent decline of the coal industry led to to the staithes being left as idle skeletons for many years, until the North Blyth set – originally built during 1910-23 – were severely truncated in the 1990s.

Nowadays, Blyth makes a decent living, ironically, from importing goods. This amounts mainly to material for the nearby Alcan works – namely, alumina and, believe it or not, coal.

For some absolutely splendid ‘then & now’ shots of the North Blyth Staithes (and dozens of other scenes from the famous film) see the Get Carter Tour website. Look for the ‘Locations Tour’, and then the ‘Staithes’ links. Super stuff.

 

Saturday 13th July 1174: Bad News Day (NU247062)

During the eighteen month period from April 1173 to September 1174, King Henry II of England, Normandy and Anjou, spent most of his time fending off a revolt from his wife and three of their sons. And all of this at a time when he was in most people’s bad books after the murder of Thomas Becket in 1170. But he came through it all successfully, continuing his rule until his death in 1189.

The north of England suffered a fair bit during this period of upheaval, with the rebels’ alliance with both the Scots and Bishop Pudsey (the most powerful of Durham’s Prince Bishops) bringing a good deal of hassle the way of the local populace. And one day in particular stands out: Saturday 13th July 1174.

Now I’m not sure of the exact order of events on that fateful day, but as for Bishop Pudsey, well, he must have awoken that morning thinking that his plan was coming together very nicely. For that day, forty knights and 500 Flemish soldiers sailed into Hartlepool to support the rebellion, and were placed under the command of the bishop’s nephew, Hugh, Count of Bar.

Elsewhere, and at the very same time, the Scots were busy rampaging around the Northumberland countryside, as they were prone to do. And this summer Saturday morning it was the turn of Warkworth to suffer, as the ravishing hordes descended on the town. Duncan, Earl of Fife, under orders from the Scottish king, William the Lion, unleashed the full force of his army upon the hapless men, women and children of Warkworth, setting the streets ablaze. Amidst the chaos, 300 of them took refuge in the Church of St.Lawrence – but the Earl’s men broke in and butchered them all, paying no regard to age or sex.

St.Lawrence’s Church, Warkworth

But the day was not yet over. The Scottish king, William the Lion, was keen to commence his siege of Alnwick Castle before the day was out, and this he did with such enthusiasm that he ventured too close to the castle’s walls and was snatched and taken prisoner. The Scots were effectively beaten, and the rebellion thereafter crumbled. Bishop Pudsey’s Flemish mercenaries quickly turned on their heels and scarpered home, and the rebel cleric made a hasty peace with Henry II.

 

Astonishingly, King Henry had only just visited Canterbury the day before (12th July) to do penance for his involvement in the death of Thomas Becket in December 1170….