Geoff Ramm - Mercury Marketing Offering bespoke marketing services, Geoff specialises in helping start-up and expanding businesses to win new customers and retain the loyalty of existing clients. His services, tailored to meet specific needs, are also designed to help businesses achieve the market differentiation they need stand out from the crowd. The South Tyneside entrepreneur is also behind GeoffRamm.com. This has enabled the Boldon based 34-year-old to combine an expertise in marketing with his ability as a public speaker. In fact over the past 18 months Geoff has taken his marketing seminars all over the UK , including the Marketing Show at Ramside Hall in County Durham during March 2009. Geoff loves his work and says, “It's a great feeling to share ideas on how businesses can achieve success without having to spend vast sums of money on marketing. “Small businesses are going to need all of their creativity in 2009 to be successful. Companies will have to constantly find new and original ways of capturing the attention of potential customers. “I aim to help them achieve that. “A lot of marketing advice is theory based, important but not always easy to relate to. My talks, which are based on real life experiences, offer practical, cost effective hints, tips and ideas that every business can use. “A good example of the sort of sound, affordable tips I offer is Fusion Marketing. Don't worry, I'm not building a nuclear bomb. Imagine a flyer comes through your letterbox. You read the front then turn it over and the back is blank. That's a waste of space – literally. “Now, imagine if the sender of the flyer had teamed up with another business that whilst not in competition was still trying to reach the same clients. Print and distribution costs would have been halved. Furthermore, both businesses would double their reach because they combine mailing lists and so on. “That's a good example of what my keynote talks are all about.” The union of marketing expertise and public speaking ability has been a marriage made in heaven for Geoff Ramm. His services are always in demand. In fact, he's been described as the Billy Connolly and Peter Kay of marketing. Geoff laughs and explains how this came about, “After a keynote speech several years ago I read a feedback form that compared me to Billy Connolly and Peter Kay . I was delighted though a bit amazed. “I rang the businessman who had written this and he said, ‘Yes that's right, like Connolly and Kay you speak from real life observations – and make them funny and memorable at the same time.” Geoff as it happens is a fan of Billy Connolly . He has most of the The Big Yin's DVDs and has seen him perform on numerous occasions. Geoff says with a twinkle in his eyes, “Sometimes, when I'm speaking during a seminar, I half expect to hear this Scottish voice booming out from the back of the room, ‘My God man, you'll have to grow a beard if we're going to franchise my name across the business world!' “And Billy Connolly will be sitting there in his black leather jacket, arms folded, jaw jutting!” Published on the Age Concern North Tyneside website, May 2009. The sociable out-going Ella, of Chirton Lodge in North Shields, hobbies include travel and sewing, has been a widow since 2000 and her family is dispersed all over the country. As Ella explains, prior to becoming a Life Link volunteer, she had been feeling socially isolated. “After my husband passed away I kept to myself for a couple of years. Then I slowly started to socialise a bit more, joining a sewing class, going for walks, helping out with activities here at Chirton Lodge. “But, gradually, I became aware of spending a lot of time in my flat, watching TV. Life just felt .. a bit empty. When someone asked me about joining Life Link, I was happy to give it a go. “And I think it's great. “Life Link undertakes classroom activities with kids between the ages of six and sixteen. The children are encouraged to call us by our first names and I keep a book of the children's names and try and remember them, four a time, that's how I do it. “Though sometimes I find myself having to dip into my little book when faced with a child and I just can't remember their name! “We do a lot of story telling and plays and have lots of fun. Each activity is designed to engage the children at different levels. “In one story, for example, a blind dog helps a magpie with a broken wing by letting it sit on his back as he walks through the forest. But the poor old dog tires and a fox offers to carry the magpie. But of course, the fox turns on the bird, which flies back to the dog.” The children are put into groups; each with a Life Link volunteer and they discuss the issues involved in the story. “I've never met a cheeky kid yet,” says Ella. “They are well mannered and behaved, even if there is the occasional child who has problems or comes from a difficult background. Sometimes a child might get frustrated because he or she can't make their point heard and stands up and says so. “Teacher explains why the group discussions, and co-operation, are so important and asks the child to sit down and I can't fault them. The children always thank us for coming to their school. “We also do plays and the kids absolutely love these. For one, some of the children dressed as an elephant and it was just a hoot. The other kids were blindfolded and had to tell what sort of animal it was. So you can see, there is a strong educational element there.” Ella thinks that school is very different from when she attended the Buddle School in Wallsend. She says, “A lot more is done for the children now, I think, especially for kids with special needs.” Ella, Wallsend born and bred, was married to husband John for 46 years. She has a son and daughter, ten grandchildren and eight great-grandchildren. “The funny thing is,” says Ella, “John, a milkman for 31 years, was always great with children. “I like working with the kids, I love being around them, and I've broken that feeling of isolation. The children have helped me develop a more positive outlook on life. “There's a good social aspect to the Life Link project too. I've made firm friends with the other volunteers and the children are always pleased to see us. “They sometimes invite us back for special occasions. In 2008 we were invited to the Whitehouse Lane School Christmas Dinner and then to watch the rehearsals for the school panto. It was lovely. “I think Life Link is great because it brings the generations together.” Published in the South Shields Gazette, 2009. The track across the hilltop was a peaceful scene now but nearly two hundred years ago it was one of the waggonways that served many lead mines and quarries in the area. Its wooden rails would have resounded from dawn till dusk with the clatter of horse drawn carts. Today, many of those waggonways are walking trails that offer access to the some of the most beautiful countryside in England . The quarries are long gone, the din of industry replaced by curlews soaring through bright blue skies. My 10—mile route began and finished in Haydon Bridge and it was one which revealed the Tyne Valley in all its rich variety, its plains and its forests, the tumbling burns and waterfalls. The walk also took me through the North-East's equally rich history, following the trail of the Industrial Revolution before heading into Roman Wall Country. It turned out to be a journey with its fair share of colourful characters too, not all of them human…. The day's route started at the railway station, from there heading south through Gee's Wood and onto a narrow sunlit lane that climbs the Tyne Valley to Threepwood Farm. From here the John Martin Heritage Trail follows a dismantled railway, west. John Martin was one of the Victorian era's most distinguished artists. Some of his work is on permanent exhibition at the Laing Art Gallery in Newcastle . A Haydon Bridge lad, John was inspired by the beauty of his surroundings and I could see why, pausing on a peaceful country lane to gaze over a vista of yellows, greens and smoky greys. I shaded my eyes, watching squirrels darting along a moss covered stone wall that bordered the lane. On the other side of it, trees swayed gently in the spring breeze and big black birds glided over meadows. This included a small but growing collection of maps, one of which I was now studying. My navigation skills were coming along nicely. I'd reached the stage of being able to read a map without constantly referring to its key to identify footpaths, bridleways and byways. The furrowed trail that was once a waggonway took me across the valley side and into the blustering wind and the play of light on woodland, heather and crags and those distant peaks provided an ever changing view. It was like walking through a constantly shifting tableau of colours and shapes. The trail led down from the high open hills, through forestation to Langley Castle. Now a hotel, this place has a long, turbulent history. In the 12 th Century the Barons of Tynedale had a stronghold here. The castle was built in 1350 and like so many of the region's ancestral family seats, it saw its fair share of war. This included being badly damaged in 1405 by the army of Henry IV when he came north to quell the troublesome Percy Family. By the 17 th Century the Earls of Derwentwater were masters of Langley Castle and they also became embroiled in intrigue. The third Earl, James, and his brother, Charles, took part in the Jacobite rebellion and paid a heavy price for it. Both men were executed at the Tower of London . From Langley Castle, the John Martin Trail took me into the lower Tyne Valley, along sun warmed country roads and disused railways where swallows flowed around hedgerows and cattle grazed in the fields. En-route, I past the occasional rambler or couples out for a stroll and at one point a jogger. He was gasping his way up a steep hill while his Yorkshire terrier, face beaming, raced ahead of him. The dog, bounding along, clearly thought that this was just the best way ever of spending a Sunday morning. When he saw me, the jogger rolled his eyes, nodded at the dog hurtling up the hill and said, “Every day, he takes me out for my five mile run.” The jogger plodded past me and flailed along in the dog's wake, yelling, “Wait for me, man, give uz a chance!” Rummaging around in my rucksack for a digestive biscuit – my favourite – I followed the tranquil lane into Haydon Bridge , smiling to myself. The unfortunate jogger could still be heard, yelling at his dog to slow down. After a pint at the Railway Hotel my journey took me north, straight up the valley side and it was quite a climb, almost vertical in places. Sheep grazed - I wondered how they managed to avoid falling over on the steep incline - and a horse wandered across the hillside, looking for a stroke. I stopped, to get my breath back and pat the horse on the head. We stood in companionable silence, gazing across the Tyne Valley, bright as an emerald under ocean blue skies. Then, finally, giving the horse another pat, I pushed on, climbing to the summit, and wiping sweat off my face, joined country lanes. They led into a landscape very different from that of the first half of the walk. Moors rose to even higher, heather covered summits where a dramatic black line on the horizon was Hadrian's Wall. Before it, deserted leafy lanes led into a white glow that was the sunset and I had to shield my eyes with the map to see. Through the dazzling white light could be glimpsed huge green and brown ripples in the earth, they were hills, spreading away south west to Alston and beyond. It was the roof of England . There was just me and the open trail, the sun on my face and bare arms, the buffeting wind and singing of thrushes to keep me company. My day's journey was drawing to a close and I slowed my pace so as not to hurry it, stopping at a copse of trees to enjoy the cool Northumbrian wind. There were also the sounds and scents of the countryside; gently creaking trees and sparkling streams, grass and honeysuckle. A huge ancient tree in front of me grew through a stone wall and towered into the sky. I blinked before looking again. The tree was burning. It was such a striking image that my instinct was to take a step back. It wasn't flames however but bright yellow flowers. It was if the tree was covered in honey scented fire. This was such a pleasant place I decided to stay awhile, sitting against a fence and watching the sunset fill the Tyne Valley with its dazzling white glow. Eventually, a little reluctantly, I took to the trail again and with shadows striping the fields, wandered back down to the railway station in Haydon Bridge. Matfen Story A short distance along the Stamfordham road, at Low Hall, a footpath runs north over the fields, passing a screen of trees. Here I stopped to roll up my sleeves, put on the sunhat and take a swig of orange juice, which had replaced my usual flask of coffee. Experience had taught me just how easy it is to become dehydrated when walking in hot weather. And it was a beautiful day, sunlight jewelling the trees and hedgerows where wild flowers flamed. Off I set, walking past the trees and some logs piled in long grass, the smell of warm wood lazily filling the air. The track crossed a stream before climbing into the great open spaces of Northumberland. I paused, listening. Sounds carried to me on the warm breeze included a rich variety of birdsong. Some are rapid, like running water, others slow and hypnotic. And there are the piercing shrieks of birds of prey. Like now, a scream and very quick drumming, more like a vibration felt than a sound heard. A kestrel shot overhead. The drumming was its powerful wings beating the air. The bird climbed into a cloudless sky, hovered and then dived. When it took flight again the kestrel had what looked like a mouse in its claws. Even amongst other hawks, the kestrel's hunting prowess is renowned and it is also know as Windhover. The scene, raw and yet beautiful, was still fresh in my mind when after another half a mile or so the footpath emerged onto a narrow, tree lined country lane. It led me to a sign that announced: Waterloo . This was a startling development. My map reading isn't perfect but it can't be that bad surely, I thought. Waterloo however, turned out to be a house on a crossroads with no sign of the French Imperial Army in sight. From here the route took me to an old mill, over Howlaw Burn and then across country to the village of Ingoe , crowning a hill to the North-East. I climbed on, thankful for the sunhat whilst watching rabbits chase each other across the fields. They weren't the only wildlife. Standing very quietly, I also watched two purple and white butterflies fluttering around brilliant red Azaleas that grew in the shade of an oak tree. The combination of colours, the smell of the flowers, the gentle swaying of the tree in the breeze, made me want to settle down to lunch. But I pushed on until finally, the footpath emerged onto the high street in Ingoe. Here I took a well earned break, sipping orange juice and tucking into a salad while looking across a shallow valley of hazy greens and blues. Matfen's church spire was visible through dark green clouds that were tree tops. In the distance beyond there lay a range of blue hills. A heat haze shimmered over them. Ingoe was well worth the visit, with its cottages and gardens surrounded by fields where cattle grazed. The scent of red roses perfumed the air. An old chap, trimming his hedge, smiled and said hello and then I found a lane flanked by trees that offered some welcome shade. Opening out the map, I studied the area. People have been living here for thousands of years. The footpath that approaches the village from the south-west crosses the site of a medieval village. There is also an ancient tumulus and the Warrior Stone, dating to the Bronze Age, scarred with age, silent with its memories. It's easy to see why our ancestors settled here. The hill on which Ingoe sits is surrounded by crags, offering good protection from attack. In addition, there are about a dozen springs, burns and wells in the immediate vicinity. Numerous footpaths fan out from the village and it occurred to me that perhaps some of these have their origins as ancient hunting trails. And then I put away the map and just enjoyed the moment, hands rested on the top of the stone wall, sunhat pushed back on my head, gazing out over Northumberland. With the sun at its zenith and the heat still rising, I headed out of the village and west along the Ingoe road. It was a chance to stretch my legs and enjoy the cool breeze and sunlight glowing on a landscape of many colours. Gorse bush flamed yellow amidst hedgerows that were covered in a white blossom. Streams sparkled blue and there were little wooded dells where leaves crunched underfoot and bees busied themselves. And there was the multitude of birdsong. The road returned me to Waterloo , there was still no sign of Napoleon lurking behind a hedge, and from here, a grassy trail took me back to Matfen. My lunchtime pint was taken at the Black Ox, sitting outside and enjoying the lazy, slumbering afternoon. The village is a real suntrap and was basking in it today. The sound of kids playing football on the village green carried languidly on the air, along with the buzz of bees and faint tinkle of a stream. A cat, loping across the grass, decided that such an effort on such a beautiful day was just too great and promptly keeled over. Don't blame you old chap, I thought. There was something else I wanted to see and so after my break headed east out of the village, this time along a lane called Jingling Gate. The afternoon was, thankfully, cooling. The wind had picked up too, sounding like waves on a shore as it poured through the trees on my right. I found what I was looking for. In front of the wood there is a very old stone wall and it struck me that this was perhaps the original boundary of the Blackett Estate, looking onto Matfen Hall. The name Jingling Gate also had me wondering. Where did it come from? A mile or so along the dusty white lane, a bridleway led north over fields, through grazing sheep and past trees, small and gnome like. Something else that attracted my attention were a mass of curious shapes in the sun glare, or rather, a forest of tall, pointed, twitching ears. It was such a striking sight that I stopped and tried to get a better look, having to shield my eyes from the sun with the map. Good Lord, I thought. The mass of ears belonged to rabbits, lots of them. In fact I had never seen so many. They were just sitting there in the middle of field like they were holding a town council meeting. I walked on, smiling and shaking my head. Then another sight grabbed my attention. It was the fells and crags around Ingoe on its hill, where the Warrior Stone glimmered blood red. Finally, the Stamfordham Road took me, treating myself to a digestive biscuit, back to Matfen. There was still 45 minutes to go before the bus came. Excellent, I thought, time to take a leaf out of the village cat's book; time for a spot of dozing under a tree somewhere. Journalism “Weekend Walks”, South Shields Gazette (2007/08) Sample Stories “Our Memories”, Best of British Magazine (2008) – Story “Age Concern”, North Tyneside (2007/08) “Death Portal”, an online novel (2008) Media 'Published in the Leanne Cook Accounting Newsletter, March 2009'
On March 1 st 2002 Geoff Ramm launched Mercury Marketing and over the past seven successful years the company has helped many businesses grow.
ELLA, now 74, found a new lease of life on becoming an Age Concern Life Link volunteer, in August 2006.
Across the hilltop I went, following a track. Far below, to my right, lay Haydon Bridge and the River Tyne like a bright blue vein in the green folds of the valley. Beyond that, distant peaks, purple with heather and red under sunlight, broke the skyline.
This was the perfect place, in fact, for a cup of coffee. I searched the rucksack – a new one – for my flask, which was also new. The arrival of spring was the perfect time to buy some new gear.
The bus turned round on the village high street, picked up some passengers then headed back to Newcastle , giving me a friendly hoot on the horn. I waved. Gradually, a still dawn resettled over the village of Matfen .
Out here on the great green swell of open fields, the heat seemed to pulse in the air, the only shade being in scattered dells or under the branches of occasional trees.
