Ourselves: A Song

Music By F. Bullard, Words By Alfred Cecil Calvert^[1].

Sung by J. H. Buckley at the Club`s Annual Dinner, 26th November, 1910.

There are clubs diverse and many in the Ernpire’s mighty bounds,
But few – if there be any – where such harmony abounds
As in the Yorkshire Ramblers – pot-holers, cragsmen, scramblers:
For we’re all the best of fellows in the Yorkshire Ramblers’ Club.

Chorus –

The Yorkshire Ramblers: pot-holers, cragsmen, scramblers –
For we’re all the best of fellows in the Yorkshire Ramblers’ Club.

To see the Ramblers climbing is really quite a treat,
For it sets beholders thinking they have suckers in their feet;
But they haven’t – it’s their muscle and their thews that win the tussle,
Making vertical progression like a walk along the street.

Chorus – The Yorkshire Ramblers, ,&c.

To speak in paradoxes (which is truth disguised a lot),
The Rambler’s in excelsis when he’s going all “to pot,”
But he isn’t any pillar of la mode, or lady-killer,
In the costume that’s de rigueur when he burrows underground.

Chorus – The Yorkshire Ramblers, &c.

So here’s a health most hearty to ourselves assembled here:
To our merry joyous party, warmed by sunlight of good cheer!
And both feet on the table (presuming you are able)
To the “Moor(e)” renowned in fable – our noble President!

Chorus – The Yorkshire Ramblers, &c.