This tradition is an old one, and was kept up religiously in the Durham village of Tudhoe.

Last century – or some say in the century before – a group of farmers gathered one evening in Tudhoe Mill farm with a generous amount of alcohol.

Late into the hours of darkness, the liquid refreshment started to run out and a young farmhand was asked to walk to the nearby village of Croxdale to gather fresh supplies from a local inn that was still open.

A large jug of whisky had taken their fancy, and he promised to return promptly with exactly that.

An hour ticked by, then two, and still the lad had not returned.

One of the others decided to play a trick on him by way of revenge for his tardiness.

He took a white sheet and headed off for a nearby field that lay between Croxdale and Tudhoe.

"I'll dress up as a ghost and frighten him," he had told his pals with a mischievous grin. Another hour or two passed, and suddenly the first young man staggered through the door.

"I was passing through the field, when suddenly a white ghost jumped out and frightened me," he stammered.

His friends laughed, knowing the ghost was their other friend.

But the laughing soon stopped when the youngster carried on speaking.

"The white ghost was bad enough, but when the black one appeared it was even worse."

"What black ghost?" they asked. "It was bigger than the white ghost, and it fell on top of it.

"Then there were screams, and they both disappeared," he told them

Concerned, they traipsed down to the field. All that remained was the shredded remnants of the white sheet, covered in blood. Their friend was never seen again.

One curious postscript to this tale is that the first worker to cross the field – the one who was supposed to be the victim of the ghostly prank – claimed that as he ran back to the farm terrified, he could hear the Devil calling to him: "Nicky-nack, nicky-nack."

Later, this mystery was explained when it was found the young man's heel had come loose and was making the "nicky-nack" noise when it slapped against the road.

Later, the field was renamed the Nicky Nack Field.

The pub in Croxdale was renamed the Nicky Nack, too, although it now carries the less curious name Daleside Arms.

Some versions of the tale indicate that the farmer who heard the Devil calling him and the one who had the terrible experience at Nicky Nack Field were two separate people.

I don't know, but whatever the facts it's a terrific story.

Mrs H and I aim to go back to Tudhoe soon to gather more stories during the daytime – not via the Nicky Nack Field.

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