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Before I was 10, dad worked at Mainsforth pit in Ferryhill and then, when its coal seams became worn out, moved to Dean and Chapter pit also near Ferryhill, recalled John Reece.
We lived in Ferryhill Station village, very close to the main London to Edinburgh railway line, and, as kids, would spend most of our time hanging around the railway station watching the steam trains and jotting down their numbers.
My uncle Fred, mum's brother in law, worked for British Railways as a delivery driver, delivering parcels brought by the steam trains to the busy station. It was a treat for me to go out on deliveries with uncle Fred in his three-wheeler Scammel and flat bed trailer, in maroon, British Railways, livery.
I remember making a delivery to Windlestone Hall, the previous home of Anthony Eden. It sticks in my mind because the lady of the house came out to uncle Fred's Scammel to collect a parcel, and through the open door I could see a full tiger skin rug, complete with stuffed head and open jaws.
As an impressionable 7 or 8 year old I thought it was the family pet!!!
My main friend in Ferryhill was Athol Thompson, whose parents ran the village shop. His dad was severely disabled and moved around in a sort of kneeling position with a wooden block fixed under his left knee and another wooden block in his right hand.
I can remember him making new 'blocks' to get around on from wooden fruit boxes from the shop and leather straps cut from old shoes.
My memory cannot recall the name of another friend, of whom my parents disapproved because he was always into mischief. He suffered serious injury whilst climbing on a metal fence around his home.
He slipped and a metal arrow-shaped spike pierced his throat, narrowly missing any vital parts, but piercing his tongue and the roof of his mouth. Two hours after he was sawn free all the spikes were removed.
He couldn't talk for weeks, and when he did return to school he was a 'hero', carrying a 3-inch scar on his throat. He had also changed, for no longer was he quite such a tearaway.
I lost touch with them all when we moved to Tudhoe, when I was 10, even though it was only about 15 miles away, it might as well have been another world apart.
John Reece, Cleveland, 2001
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