Friday evening, 5 Jul 1996. A Walk among the Trimdon villages:
 

Fig. T-8. In July, the evenings are long in northern England, remaining daylight until 10 pm. On my first bus trip out of Durham, I went to the Trimdons and walked from Trimdon village (parish church of Mary Magdelan) to Trimdon Grange, and finally, to Trimdon Colliery (St. Paul's Anglican Church). The country paths of England have the right of way even through a farmer's field, for the path was there first. A hiker's haven.

By evening, the skies had cleared. The sun came out to highlight puffy white clouds drifting along the horizon.  I took the bus to Trimdon Village. Once there, I photographed the beautiful little church of Mary Magdelan and a “fence” made up of old cemetery stones which surrounded the churchyard. Then I walked to a newer and larger cemetery about 2 or 3 blocks downhill from the church. There, I photographed a cenotaph dedicated to:

 “Seventy four men and boys in Trimdon Grange Colliery explosion on Thursday, 16 Feb 1882. Forty four are buried here”. (My Russell family emigrated from nearby Wheatley Hill and Castle Eden in August of 1881, just six months prior to this tragedy.)

I walked back to Trimdon village and entered the Labor Club which was formerly called the Workman's Club. I was directed here earlier by a very friendly and helpful lady who I met on the bus. She made sure that I got the directions to Trimdon and got off the bus at the right stop. Also a couple who disembarked at Kelloe were interested to hear that I was gathering family history in the area. They told me that St. Helen’s Anglican Church of Kelloe was the christening place of the poetess, Elizabeth Barret Browning. There is a celebration for the poet called “Flower Day” on the last weekend of June-  which I missed on this trip of course.

As I walked into the club, with my walking stick and backpack, I could hear a pin drop. Dead silence. I could feel everybody's eyes on this "outsider" as I walked across the room. I thought I saw one of the young females scowl in my direction. Women were seated on one side of the hall; men, on the other. I bought a pint of beer at the bar and carried it to an empty seat on the men's side. I don't know how the conversation got started, but I told the men I was researching my family roots- the Russell family. They warmed up. I could barely comprehend through the thick accent of one of the older men.  As luck would have it, he was the one who was most talkative. From what I could gather, there was a Ronnie Russell, a medical doctor, who once lived in the area. He was described as a very tall man, and had doctored some of the men who now surrounded me. Though I did not know for sure, I presumed Dr Russell no longer lived in the area, or perhaps he had died. In any case, no one could tell me where he could be reached.

After I finished my pint and was ready to leave, I was directed to a driveway between two cottages in the village perimeter. This driveway opened onto a path that led to Trimdon Grange. The rural countryside was so beautiful in the long shadows of the evening sun. The colors were vivid.  It had been my mental picture of a typical English country pathway. Incidentally, such paths have the right of way through a farmer's field. There are no “No Trespassing” signs here, as there would likely be in rural America. I climbed over several “kissing gates”. These gates do not swing on a hinge, but instead, consist of a sill, too high and narrow for livestock to go through, but low enough for lovers to bend over and give each other a kiss. Unfortunately, I was traveling alone.

I hiked down a long sloping field and then up a hill, which the locals call a “bank”. This was one of many local terms that I would add to my British lexicon.

Trimdon Grange was architecturally similar to the village of Trimdon which I had just left. I entered the Trimdon Grange Federation Brewery. There were fewer people here than at the previous club. A Mr. Jones then directed me to Trimdon Colliery, for there I would find the parish church. I could already see in the distance the village of my next destination and the steeple of the church.   Before starting out again on the path, I stopped in a small grocery for a Cornish corn beef pie. I decided that evenings would be best for hiking like this, walking from village to village. The evenings were long and there were shops open for snacks.

At the grocery, I added another word to my British vocabulary.  A pound sterling, which was the cost of my pie, is also called a  “quid”, similar to the way we would refer to our dollar as a  “buck”.  Other terms: the church vicar is the minister of theology, and the warden is a lay person who is responsible for the upkeep of the church. Usually, there is a sign posted outside the church which gives the names and phone numbers of both the vicar and warden, as well as a schedule of services.

When I arrived at Trimdon Colliery (accent on the first syllable), I entered the stone-walled yard of St. Paul's Anglican Church, and walked among the grave stones. According to “Churches of Diocese of Durham” which I purchased at the Cathedral book store: Saint Paul at Deaf Hill-cum-Langdale, was built between 1884 and 1893. On the east side of the church, I found the following monument and inscription: (Also see Monumental Inscriptions, Durham Record Office, vol. 305, page 5)

West side of monument: “Hugh Russell, MD, Glasgow born June 21st, 1846. Died Dec 11th, 1881”.

North side of monument:  “Erected in memory of Nicholas Fletcher Russell, son of Hugh Russell, doctor of Medicine, Glasgow U. Born at East Moor House, Trimdon Colliery April 27th, 1876. Died immediately after falling from his horse on the High Road nearby, Sept 9 1898, age 22 years”

East side of monument: “In remembrance of Lydia, wife of Dr. Hugh Russell, born at Wingate October 3rd, 1843 (?) died at Willow Willowfield House, Trimdon Colliery, August 17, 1918, and Elizabeth Bainbridge, daughter of the above born at Trimdon Colliery, July 1st, 1866 died at Sunderland June 5, 1919”.

South side of monument: I believe this side was blank.

	Fig T-9. The sign on the corner of this line of row houses in Shotton Colliery, states "Aged Miner's Homes". There is enough garden space in the front yard for flowers and vegetable plants. I wonder if my ancestors would have wound up here if they had stayed in Durham county. This was a rainy, misty day.
	Fig. T-10. Now the rain was really coming down, but I still took this photo of Holy Trinity Anglican Church in Wingate Village. No use waiting around for a sunny day in England to take pictures. Seven of the eleven children of Thomas Russell, the elder, and his wife, Jane, were christened in this church in the 1850's and 1860's.

Fig. T-11. If you view the original LDS microfilm roll (no. 1514658) of parish records for Wingate Grange Parish, you will read the christenings of our Russell family. However, you will be stumped at transcribing the scribbling of the pastor's signature. Well, here is the Celtic cross and monumental inscription for him and his wife right behind Holy Trinity,  "Mary Eleanore, wife of Rev Edward Neville Valentine Boydell, b. June 1824; d. 9 Aug 1876. Also, Rev E.N.V. Boydell, vicar of Wingate, b. 14 Feb 1815 (you guessed it, St. Valentine's Day, the pastor's namesake) after 42 years of ministry in this parish, d. 15 Sep 1884.  Underneath the bush to the right, is small memorial, "Baby Russell, d. Sep 1902". Also, further back in the yard, "W.A. Gordan Russell, MAMBCM Aber, d. 20 Arp 1934, 65 yrs, also his wife, d. 25 Sep 1947, 65 years. (Wish I knew what the initials mean)

After leaving the Holy Trinity grave yard, I walked over to a pizza place on the corner and asked a young lady inside if she knew where the community center was located. A sign on the church announced a “cream tea” was being held that afternoon at 3. She did not know where the center was located, so I wound up not going to the tea. But since she understood that I was interested in local history, she directed me to Johnny’s ice cream parlor. Apparently Johnny, or someone who was old enough, knew some local history.

At the parlor, I  was the only customer. I enjoyed a cup of vanilla ice cream topped with raspberry syrup. The booths were very old; the partitions were constructed of darkly stained wood, trimmed on the top edge with a sheet frosted glass. The man inside the Parlor (soda jerk doesn't sound respectable enough in this land) said the booths dated back to the turn of the century. There was an older man who frequented the parlor who knew some history about town. However, he wasn't there presently. The parlor man took me outside the door and pointed to a low hill and field which he said used to be a mountain of slag. But tonight, it was very peaceful and pastoral. Cows were grazing on the  hillside verdant after the rain we had about an hour ago.

I walked to the far end of Station Town which adjoins Wingate. The two towns are separated by a street wide gate, which appears to be permanently swung open and lashed to a post. I passed an old church with a corner stone that read, “Milbank Methodist Church, 1904”.
 
I asked a woman getting out of her parked car if she knew the location of any of the old streets of Wingate such as Grainger or Ryman. I obtained these addresses for my Russell family earlier from census reports. She did not know of any streets by that name. They were probably bulldozed when the Colliery was closed down and demolished.
 
From Station Town I walked back towards Wingate. About half way to Wingate, I turned onto a public footpath that followed an old railroad bed to a peaceful little park called the Miner's Welfare Park. It contained an outside bowling green, flower garden, and large pond. A sign at the entrance to the park advised visitors to “Please follow the country code”.  I walked past fenced, small plots of ground in which the townspeople plant their vegetables and cabbage. Later, I learned these are called allotments. Actually, the fences around these plots are quite shabby. Any material could be used to form a six foot high barrier: old doors, plywood, steel roofing, as well as conventional fencing.

I struck up a conversation with a man whom I saw walking his dog. He told me not to miss the Miner's Gala, which the locals call “The Big Meetin”. It happens on July 13 at Durham. He seemed quite emotional about the bands playing in the hallowed Cathedral of Durham. "Aye, the sounds would make a miner proud" he said, with what I thought were trembling lips. Also, he told me that a man named Gully once owned Wingate Colliery. He was a prize-winning fist fighter and was the champion of all England at one time. Had he heard of Dr. Ronnie Russell?  He thought that the ashes of Ronny Russell were buried at St. James' Church, in Castle Eden. His wife may still be living in a home for the aged.

On the way back through Wingate, I stopped off at a “Chippy” Place and bought some very greasy haddock and chips. The meal was wrapped in newspapers that turned wet and clear from the grease. Two women behind the store counter were impressed that I was researching my family roots. Natives who I've met in Durham seem to know my home state of Virginia from Laurel and Hardy’s singing of the “Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia” in one of their old movies. One of the women began to sing a few bars of the song for me.
 
With "Blue Ridge Mountains" hanging on my breath, I walked along the road for about an hour over to the next town of Shotton Colliery. I passed by a tavern called The Firs and then walked over a two-laned super highway. On the way, turning west toward the setting sun, I could see Wheatley Hill in the distance. The Colliery which used to be just outside of town, like all the others in the area, has been flattened and replanted with pine trees. It's amazing how all evidence of the colliery villages and pit heads have disappeared so quickly. I believe the Durham District Council wants to wipe out all traces of the coal mining industry.  This, despite the fact that most of the homes in the area are still heated by coal. I wondered where the home owners bought their coal. I heard that some coal mines are still active in Yorkshire, the next county south of Durham. All the mines were nationalized by the government before WW II.  One of the benefits of being a coal miner was that they received an allotment of coal with which to heat their homes.

As dusk approached, I walked around the tombstones in the yard of St. Savior Anglican church in Shotton Colliery and took some notes from monumental inscriptions of Dawsons. My great grandfather's sister, Sarah Rebecca Russell, had married a Thomas Dawson from Shotton Colliery. I could hear an airplane buzz overhead. At the bus stop, and just before my bus came to carry me back to my room at Durham City, I watched some parachutists floating down from an airplane above, to the gentle slopes that used to be, in former times, the ugly gray slag heaps of Shotton Colliery.

Fig. T-12. I was expecting to see some evidence of the old collieries and mining fields of Durham county on my trip. Back in Pennsylvania, there are still mountains of slag heaps. However, the only collieries one will see in Durham are at the outdoor museum at Beamish in northern county. Otherwise, the County Council is quickly reclaiming derelict land as seen here at Quarrington Hill, East Hetton Colliery.

Fig. T-13. Memorial at the base of an old Colliery wheel in Thornley. "Colliery sunk 1835, closed 1970. Time passes. Memories linger for the people and parish of Thornley."