Billy Row Neighbourhood Watch volunteer reflects on 24 years

After his daughter's house was burgled, Harold Wilsher decided to make his County Durham village safer. Despite threats, intimidation and attacks on his home, the Neighbourhood Watch volunteer has spent more than 24 years patrolling his streets, determined to eradicate crime and anti-social behaviour. The BBC joined him for one of his rounds.

The winter sun breaks through the dull morning mist, inviting Harold to go out for a walk.

The 81-year-old pulls on his high-vis jacket, slides a body-camera harness on to his chest and grabs an enormous bundle of keys.

Each has been given to him over the years by one of Billy Row's residents for him to keep an eye on their home while they are away.

He doesn't know how many of the keys are still relevant but he daren't throw any away.

He leaves his bungalow, passing the hall wall covered with framed certificates celebrating his community stalwart status, closes his garden gate and sets off up the road.

Billy Row is sprawled up a hill in County Durham, sandwiched between Crook on the valley floor and Stanley Crook atop the ridgeway.

The old pit village is home to about 800 people. It comprises a large sloped green with a pub, primary school and post office, old miners' terraces and the Stanley Way housing estate, built on former allotments in the 1960s.

Harold was born and raised in Stanley Crook, but moved with his wife Mary to Stanley Way 56 years ago after their hilltop home was demolished under the Category D scheme.

He started his career as a miner but, when his pit closed, he found work building roads for Durham County Council.

In his 30s he had to stop work altogether after being diagnosed with vertigo.

It was so bad he couldn't get in a car or bus, although he managed to surprise his daughter by attending her wedding 13 miles (21km) away in Consett through a mix of walking and being driven by a friend in half-mile-long legs.

The condition, which produces extreme dizziness and nausea, did not stop him walking the paths of Billy Row, though.

His route takes him through the estate to a footpath, bordered by gardens on one side and horses in fields on the other.

Stanley Way was the source of Harold's anguish back in 1999. A clue to its troubled past is provided by the faint remains of its nickname graffitied on a brick wall - The Bronx.

Drugs was the big driver, Harold says, with housing agencies using Stanley Way as a dumping ground for problem residents from other parts of the region.

"If you went out on the estate at night, you would either be knocked down by an off-road motorbike or meet a druggie," he says, adding: "It was a case of them and us.

"The old miners got sick of it and moved away, leaving empty houses, with the housing authorities not caring who they put in them."

He was also motivated by the burglary of his daughter's home in Consett while she was away on her honeymoon.

"I was determined it would not happen here," Harold says.

He started making daily patrols and kept a diary of anything untoward he would see.

"I just wanted to be doing something," he says, adding: "Basically I just complained to the police until they did something.

"I had a vision of what the village could be and I was determined to do what I could to make it happen."

Many people appreciated his involvement, although fear meant few wanted to be seen helping him.

"People were scared and would come to my back door to tell me things so they wouldn't be seen," he says.

Others did not welcome his interfering.

His windows were smashed five times, vandals glued the locks on his doors and the police had to install CCTV cameras after someone threatened to burn his house down.

"It was scary," Harold says, adding: "I'm not so gung-ho as to say I was not worried sometimes, but even when the windows were being put in Mary would tell me I was not packing in.

"She got feedback from people in the village about how things were getting better."

Acting on Harold's information, the authorities were able to clampdown on troublemakers through arrests and evictions.

"It took a while but after about 10 years things had really settled," he says, adding: "The bad lads, as I call them, did not want to come on the estate, they knew what would happen."

His walk takes him past large signs declaring the village a no-cold calling zone, a successful campaign he was involved in a few years ago to stop residents being plagued by unwanted salesmen.

He passes the Post Office and its defibrillator, which has been used 14 times since Harold helped arrange for it to be installed last November.

Harold crosses the main road, near the spot where yesterday he was helping to operate the Speedwatch camera.

"We caught five people doing more than 40mph (the limit is 30mph)," he says, before adding that speeding and dog fouling remain perennial problems.

He stops to adjust a bauble on the village Christmas tree, which Harold sourced and put up.

An irate delivery-driver asks Harold to do something about a car blocking access to the village's care home.

Harold takes a picture of the offending vehicle and says he will speak to the owner.

Men he meets are called "son", women "flower".

Further up the village, near the play park and football pitch which Mary played a pivotal role in getting installed through the Billy Row Community Association, a woman in a van asks for directions.

She has a package to deliver but has taken a wrong turn, ending up in the back lane behind one of the terraces.

Harold instantly knows which house she is trying to get to and points her in the right direction.

His patrol ends with a visit to Doreen Ainsley, a Billy Row resident for 38 years who has no intention of moving anywhere else.

The 88-year-old's terraced home is clean and tidy, and a row of ceramic animals line her mantelpiece.

Harold is a regular visitor, popping in for coffee and a chat.

"He is a reassuring presence," Miss Ainsley says, adding: "Not enough people appreciate Harold and everything he does for this village.

"The village would be worse without him. I've told him he is not allowed to retire until I am no longer here."

Harold doesn't go out as much as he used to, partly on the warning of a police officer who told him he would soon be getting too old to fight back should anything happen.

But he says he will continue his rounds for as long as he is able to walk, and after that he will always be on the end of the phone.

He returns to his bungalow, where sadly Mary is no longer there to greet him.

She died suddenly in 2019, ending their 57 years of marriage.

Her presence is felt though, through the pictures hanging on walls and clustered on sideboards.

There is also the scrapbook she compiled, with clippings of Harold's appearances in the local newspapers.

Harold misses her greatly, but is proud of the village they helped shape.

"I would say now I am really happy with how things are in Billy Row," he says, returning to the comfort of his armchair.

"It's not really me that's done it," he says. "It's because of the people themselves wanting to live in a decent village, to live decent lives."

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