This is a cracking story from Ananova. I once knew Salford's Lazarus.
A few years back I had a summer job in Salford and worked with the most foul-mouthed little old fella I'd ever come across. He also had the bandiest legs I'd ever seen, in fact the whole set-up, being under some railway arches, was more than a little dickensian. There was even a portrait of Mrs Saxe-Cobourg-Gotha on the office wall that vibrated and almost fell off the wall every time a train went overhead.
Anyway the gist is that Noah, the little bandy fella, had also been declared dead a couple of years after his boat had been sunk in the last world war. When the war ended a grand memorial service was held in Salford Cathedral and, with perfect timing, he returned and walked into the church just as the service began. It seems he had not fancied going back into battle after facing drowning and spent the last two years of the war living it up with various hospitable tribes around North Africa.
I often wondered if this was myth but I met his daughter some years later who confirmed it. She knew straightaway who I meant when I referred to once having worked with the most foul-mouthed little fella in Salford.