Alum and Gavel and Juniper Gulf,
Gaping Ghyll, Jingle and Bar,
Marble Sink, Pippikin, Pen-y-Ghent Pot,
Beckon me still from afar.

We found in our youth
In their innermost depths
A peace and a passion most pure.
Our hobnails and helmets,
Acetylene lamps
Were a pass to a land beneath moor.

Many the shakehole and many a sink,
Many the passage and shaft,
The ladders were hemp and the rungs were of wood
And knots were a part of the craft.

Their rattle as down in the darkness we hurled
The swiftly unravelling coil
Was muted by thunder as, deep underground,
The waters eternally boil.

Up to the fell gate
Out on the track
Eager, we strode through the heather,
The scent of the clay ever drawing us on;
The pleasure of being together.

Mere-Gill and Lancaster,
Notts and Lost Johns',
County and Quaking and Dow,
Bull Pot and Batty Wife,
Nettle and Flood,
Simpson and Rowten and Cow.

Wet as a water rat
Chilled to the bone,
Muddied from helmet to heel.
We surface at last in the cold moorland dusk
As around us the cloud shadows wheel.

The New Inn, the Wheatsheaf,
The Listers, the Shoes,
The Marton, the Crown and the Lion.
Come to the bar and we'll sing it again -
Now then you buggers, who's buying?