The Hucknall Rambler

by Louise Cooke

Their ashes were cast, linking present to past, our ancestors call us from yonder

They witnessed the dawn, watched the sun going down, this sacred space was theirs to ponder

These hills were their permanent pillow, they slumber in nature’s pure bed

Now everyone knows that it’s green belt, but some call it grey belt instead

We’re ramblers and amblers from old Hucknall Town

We get so much pleasure from roaming around

They’re trying to put up more homes, and take away our right to roam

Now the kestrel and kite make a wonderful sight in the mist on the Misk in the morn

And the roebucks and hares, have been prancing in pairs, for centuries before we were born

But soon we’ll have bulldozers digging, cos the builders can’t get in their heads

That everyone knows that it’s green belt, though they call it grey belt instead

We’re ramblers and amblers from old Hucknall Town

We get so much pleasure from roaming around

They’re trying to put up more homes, and take away our right to roam

Now Byron can’t rest, because old Grannie’s steps, will soon be a thing of the past

And Lawrence must part, with the land of his heart, he should have known it wouldn’t last

Their writings they left us a-plenty, and unto this land they are wed

Because even they knew that it’s green belt, though some call it grey belt instead

We’re ramblers and amblers from old Hucknall Town

We get so much pleasure from roaming around

They’re trying to put up more homes, and take away our right to roam

Now our doctors prescribe, cos of where we reside, a wonderful wellbeing walk

Where the birds sing along, to our soul’s hopeful song, and there’s never a reason to talk

But soon all we’ll hear is the rumble, of machinery where once birds fed

Cos though we all know that it’s green belt, some call it grey belt instead

We’re ramblers and amblers from old Hucknall Town

We get so much pleasure from roaming around

They’re trying to put up more homes, and take away our right to roam

Now there’s plenty to fear, as the deadline draws near, for our green hills and old Whyburn Farm

But by working as one, as we all sing this song, we can try to save wildlife from harm

We’ll carry on waving our banner, where in black and white can be read

Everyone knows that it’s green belt, so don’t call it grey belt instead

We’re ramblers and amblers from old Hucknall Town

We get so much pleasure from roaming around

They’re trying to put up more homes, and take away our right to roam