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Enjoy a good old singsong?
This is details just one of the local campaigns that are underway at the moment. If you don't have facebook, click [HERE] for the full statement.
SAVE OUR GREEN BELT
Song writing competition to the tune of The Manchester Rambler. You will find several versions on YouTube
Across our county of Nottinghamshire, developers, local councils, communities and wildlife are at odds with each other looking for profit, convenience, urgently needed housing and quality of life.
The Manchester Rambler song by Ewan MacCall was inspired by community action to open up the Peak District from restricted access to the Country Park it is today.
There must be a compromise somewhere to satisfy all parties, isn’t this why the politicians pay themselves the big bucks and ask for your vote? Do we really need to sacrifice wildlife habitat, food production and wellbeing when alternatives might be available?
Can you put it in verse to the tune of the Manchester Rambler with local references something that is relevant to our county, or even just Hucknall?
Your prize will be having the song performed and featured on our YouTube Channel with your name in the credits.
Just for fun, inspiration and possibly international acclaim and celebrity.
Submit your entry by April 14th 2026,
preferably as an MS Word .doc document to:
with the subject line as "Song Competition"
I’ve been over Snowdon, I’ve slept upon Crowden, I’ve camped by the Wainstones as well
I’ve sunbathed on Kinder, been burned to a cinder, and many more things I can tell
My rucksack has oft been my pillow, the heather has oft been my bed
And sooner than part from the mountains, I think I would rather be dead
Chorus:
I’m a rambler, I’m a rambler from Manchester way, I get all my pleasure the hard moorland way
I may be a wage slave on Monday, but I am a free man on Sunday
The day was just ending and I was descending, down Grindsbrook, just by Upper Tor
When a voice cried “Eh you” in the way keepers do, he’d the worst face that ever I saw
The things that he said were unpleasant, in the teeth of his fury I said
“Sooner than part from the mountains, I think I would rather be dead”
Chorus:
He called me a louse and said “Think of the grouse”, well I thought, but I still couldn’t see
Why all Kinder Scout and the moors roundabout, couldn’t take both the poor grouse and me
He said “All this land is my master’s” at that I stood shaking my head
No man has the right to own mountains, any more than the deep ocean bed
Chorus:
I once loved a maid, a spot-welder by trade, she was fair as the Rowan in bloom
And the blue of her eye matched the June moorland sky, and I wooed her from April to June
On the day that we should have been married, I went for a ramble instead
For sooner than part from the mountains, I think I would rather be dead
Chorus:
So I’ll walk where I will over mountain and hill, and I’ll lie where the bracken is deep
I belong to the mountains, the clear running fountains, where the grey rocks lie rugged and steep
I’ve seen the white hare in the gullys, and the curlew fly high overhead
And sooner than part from the mountains, think I would rather be dead.
Chorus: x 2
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