Jon Hayward Memorial Trust 

Clee Hill from the Corvedale

Clee Hill from the Corvedale

 

The Southernmost of Dales  

by J.W.L Hayward, August 2003 ©copyright Susan Jayne Hayward

Chorus

From the lower slopes of the old Brown Clee,

From Ditton Priors to Diddlebury.

Look o’er the patchwork panoply,

That’s the Southernmost of Dales    

 

1

Oh they could tell us many tales,

Those old boys who have supped your ales

When Arthur Lane sang of New South Wales

In that Southernmost of Dales 

Chorus  

 

 

2

Well, old Fred Jordan sang his songs,

To folk like us the country long,

And now he’s finished he belongs,

In that Southernmost of Dales 

Chorus  

 

 

3

Grandfather’s father ploughed your rich red soil,

Behind old snowdrop he did toil,

Like us saw those rolled up mists unfurl,

In that Southernmost of Dales

Chorus

 

 

4

Grandfather hunted all your dells,

Then hacked home when the darkness fell,

He came back here from Passchendaele,

To that Southernmost of Dales

Chorus 

 

 

5

My father saw your bright sunrise,

Better than the war-torn desert skies,

He saw them both now at peace he lies,

In that Southernmost of Dales

Chorus  

 

 

6

I too have ploughed your rich old soil,

Though powered by a diesel oil,

But it’s at a desk I now must toil,

In that Southernmost of Dales

Chorus  

 

 

7

My sons too they see your dawn,

As by them today your trees are sawn,

They work ‘til dusk from early morn

In that Southernmost of Dales

Chorus  

 

 

8

And so I’ve looked down the years at you,

The hunting, ploughing, singing too,

Oh you’ve not changed much, but you’ve changed a few,

You Southernmost of Dales

Chorus 

 

31/07/2013

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