Darlington to Durham - 36k - Wed 27 June

Ferryhill and Deanbank are two small villages co-joined like siamese twins, about 12k south of the great city of Durham. Around the time of WW1 and after, they were villages that were focussed almost entirely on the 'pit' - the coal mine a few hundreds yards down the hill from the centre of the tiny village of Deanbank. In those days, a family by the name of Price lived in the village. Mrs Price was a Godly lady, who ensured her daughter Eva went to the local Church sunday school. Later, a baby brother (Frank) joined the family, but by then things had changed. Mr Price was a serious drinker, and known for his more than occasional drunkenness. The Price family lived next door to another family whose name was Woods. The Woods were a large family, and were active members of the local Salvation Army at Deanbank. It is not clearly understood how, but one Saturday night, a slightly drunken Mr Price found his way into the Gospel meeting being held at the little Salvation Army at Deanbank. It was a time of great change in not only his life, but the life of his entire family. That night he responded to the call of the Gospel, and he surrendered his life to Jesus Christ. In Salvation Army terms, he 'got saved', born again and when he came home that night he was a changed man, never to go back to what he used to be. Next morning the Salvation Army Captain visited the home, and urged Mrs Price to begin attending the Salvation Army meetings with her husband as a means of encouraging him to keep committed to the decision he had made at the Altar the night before. Mrs Price did, and followed not long after by their daugher Eva Price, who met her husband there also (Bob Pearson), and were married, becoming very committed Salvationists in Ferryhill/Deanbank for the remainder of their days.

Whether it was the influence of the Woods family next door will never be known. Staunch Salvationists as they were, they were not without their days of tremendous grief. On 3 April 1915, just weeks before the landing of British and ANZAC troops on the shores of Galipoli, Mr and Mrs Woods (Francis and Johannah) stood weeping at a tiny grave in the Ferryhill cemetery. There 6yr old son had died, and was being buried in the family plot. Not long after, they were waving goodbye to their precious eldest son Frank who was going off to war with the British Expeditionary Force to fight on the western front between the Somme and La Marne. Would they lose another son? But further grief was to follow. Mr Woods was back at the family grave in 1921. His wife Johanna had died, and he again shed tears as she was laid to rest beside her infant son. She was 48 years of age. Her son Frank had not long returned from the battlefields of France, and was recovering from injuries. Their grieving was not yet over. In 1924, Mr Woods and son Frank stood again at the family grave, with members of the local Salvation Army, this time for the burial of the two daughters of Frank and Johanna - Annie and Evelyn were both 24 years of age, both lives being cut tragically short by tuberculosis. The extent of grieving of this Woods family cannot be imagined. But in the long shadow of this terribly prolonged period of grieving, a precious little baby girl was born, in 1923 to Frank, who had married not long after his return from the battlefields of France. They gave her the name Betty, who would become the second eldest child in a family of 8 children.

Betty Woods was 5 years of age when she, with her Mum and dad, waved goodbye to the remainder of the Woods family at Deanbank to start a new life in Australia. They came to Melbourne, then to Adelaide before settling at Maitland in NSW in 1928. Her Dad Frank only knew life in the pit at Deanbank, so he joined the pit in Maitland, where he served the remainder of his working life. But only a few years after he moved to Maitland, tragedy was to strike yet again. His wife, and now mother of 8 young children tragically died of the Flu, aged 36 years of age. Betty was the eldest daughter, and at 14 years of age left school for ever to become 'mum' to her 7 brothers and sisters, the youngest of whom were twins of 18 months of age. Her Dad eventualy married again, and the children grew, and Betty herself met a young Military man named Les from Tamworth, fell in love and was married, having a further 6 children of her own.

Betty Woods and Eva Pearson are still alive. Eva still lives in Ferryhill. Her wonderful husband Bob was 'Promoted to Glory' (a Salvation Army term) some 25 years ago, and Betty and Les were divorced over 30 years ago. Les died at 84 years of age, but Betty at age 85 still lives in Canberra, attends faithfully The Salvation Army and is matriarch of her family of 6 children, 26 grandchildren and at least 15 great grand children.

When we left Darlington on a very wet morning on 27 June, we were expected at Ferryhill at about 11am at the home of Mrs Eva Pearson. The ride to Ferryhill was not all that memorable. We persevered with the wet track, and found ourselves going straight up the highway towards Durham, until we came to the little village on top of a hill - Ferryhill. We found Eva's home, and when we knocked, one of the world's most wonderful and gracious ladies answered the door. It was a most wonderful pleasure to meet Eva, and to spend quality time with her. She had prepared lunch for us - homemade silverside pie, vegetables and then homemade raspberry pie with cream, and tea. We listened to the stories of the old Ferryhill and Deanbank, about life at The Salvation Army, about life living next door to the Woods family, and the changes in the village since those days.

She then took us to the cemetery to take us to the Woods family grave. As Julie stood at a distance talking with Eva and the cemetery caretaker, I came aside and sat at the two headstones with the names of 6yr old Walter, his mother Johanna, his two sisters Evelyn and Annie, and an extra - his Dad Francis who died in 1935 and is buried there with his wife and three children. In my moments of quietness beside this precious family grave, I fought my own tears and wrestled with my own sense of grief in trying to imagine the sadness of a mum and a dad, and a family at the tragic loss of family under these circumstances.

As we reluctantly rode away down the hill past the 'pit' on the way to Durham later that afternoon, I could hardly see for the tears that suddenly welled in my eyes again, as I recalled in my imagination again the scene at the Woods family graveside all those years ago - my grandfather Frank, holding his newborn baby Betty - my mother - in his arms as he grieved the loss of his two sisters to an incurable illness.

It was no time at all before we rolled down the long hill into the beautiful city of Durham, the towering Cathedral and Durham castle standing over us as they have stood for nearly a thousand years. It was far too wet to set up camp in a soggy camping ground. We were also told there was no accommodation left in the city because it was University graduation, but as only the Lord can provide, we found the last room in town at the Gilesgate Moor Hotel just on the edge of town, and tucked ourselves in out of the rain and cold.

As happens in England, it took no longer than our showers for the the sun to break through, and the skies to clear, giving us several hours to explore the town before having a great night's sleep for our long trek to Bellingham (pronounced 'Belling-Jam') on the edge of the Scottish border the following morning. We went to bed with fervant prayers on our hearts for a dry track all the way to Scotland!