'Twas in the month of April 2005
That R*** and D***, being alive
And married to each other forty years or so,
And living in Northumberland, though
They'd never been to Cheviot's top,
Decided that longevity should never stop
People doing what they will;
They headed up towards Scald Hill!

They'd parked beside the Harthope Burn
Near Langleeford, where farmers earn
The hardest living year on year
By herding sheep below the hill called Snear.
And donning boot and glove and hat
And grasping trekking pole and all of that,
Set off to conquer Cheviot's peak,
Though truth to tell they both felt weak
At the thought of all the strain
That they would feel, though might and main
Should be applied to this dire task,
What were they thinking, one might ask?

But, oh, bravado often lends
A sense, that’s oft enhanced by friends,
That with perseverance and weather fine,
Anything may be accomplished with the promise of free wine.
Pip and Pete, the organising pair,
Had promised a mountain of home-cooked fare
With drinks aboundin’;
All this to be found in
Their holiday accommodation cottage.
And so with promises of Shiraz and pottage
Our valiant two, with good companions four,
Set out to conquer Cheviot ‘neath lowering clouds and howling wind so raw.

The stony track wound up and on
With Hedgehope on their left. And yon
Was Cheviot, snow bedecked and bleak;
Intrepid climbers now unfit to speak.
For R*** was not so troubled by her knees,
But breathing started deep inside to wheeze.
And D**** was so thankful that he too could stop
And take breath, without the fear that he might drop.

On the map, the route from base to crown
Appears quite clear and can’t refer to up and down
In any meaningful way.
Nor does it show the grey
And windy track that they pursued.
But now ‘tis necessary to allude
To the change in the terrain, the wet and heather
Which had adverse effect far worse than weather.

Dry heather wood and tussocks now did force
High stepping to avoid the gorse,
So as the wind continued cheeks to freeze,
High stepping also knackered all their knees.
At this sad point they realised that their dream
Could not be won – they had run out of steam!
And so it was with overt grief
Though secretly with great relief,
They turned away downhill towards their transport’s seat,
But stopped awhile to have a packaged bite to eat.

Anon resumed the downward trek on hillside smooth but steep,
While favoured dog, now off his lead, set forth to worry sheep.
Pursued with ire and wrath by master stout, sore rued the day
The dog, returned with bruise from clout, no more to stray.
And back to heel, its master and companions led
To river’s bank and greensward’s softened tread.

And thus returned, disrobed, unbooted to their welcome cars,
They fell therein and thanked their lucky stars
They had the strength to follow in the wake of Pip and Pete,
Until at last in Lesb’ry’s fairest field they’d meet.
And there with merriment, companionship and freshly sharpened appetite,
They fell upon the pottage and Shiraz with such delight
That soon their aches and pains were but a minor irritation
As day drew slowly to a close with heartfelt celebration.