Click here to download the music to 'Winder'

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Oh, Eton her river,
And Clifton hath her Down,
And Winchester her cloisters
And immemorial town;
But ours the mountain fastness,
The deep romantic ghylls,
Where Clough and Dee and Rawthey
Come singing from the hills.

For it isn't our ancient lineage,
There are others as old as we;
And it isn't our pious founders;
Though we honour their memory;
'Tis the hills that have stood around us,
Unchanged since our days began;
It is Cautley, Calf and Winder,
That make the Sedbergh man.

Not ours the crowded highway
The dust, the heat, the glare;
We see a vaster prospect,
We breathe a larger air;
We watch the heather redden,
We hear the curlew cry,
About us is the moorland,
Above the windswept sky.

For it isn't...

So when in days hereafter
In tamer lands you dwell,
Or in some fevered city
Far off from beck and fell,
As boyhood's days grow dimmer,
The memory will not die
Of Winder's clear-cut outline
Against an evening sky.

For it isn't...


F.B. Malim                                    A.W. Ogilvy

The Long Run

At Olympia, far away,

In the boyhood of the world,

There were glorious games, they say:


                Discs were thrown and spears were hurled.

Came the athletes strong ad stately,

Leapt and ran and wrestled greatly,

While a nation stood and wondered.

And a shout to heav’n was thundered:

                Strain and struggle, might and main;

                Scorn defeat ad laugh at pain,

                Never shall you strive in vain

                                In the Long Run.


Sedbergh in the hardy north,

                She her runners too can show;

Sends her fleet Athenians forth –

                Trains her Spartans in the snow!

Herald March the blast is sounding –

Rugged hills the course surrounding –

Don your jerseys, make you ready,

Up and off, lads, swift and steady!

                Strain and struggle, etc.


Not so fiercely as at first,

                Toiling on to Cautley Bridge;

Down the hillside with a burst;

                On to Baugh Fell, up the ridge;

Plunging through the tangled heather

Garsdale finds ye less together:

Panting breast and straining sinew –

Set your teeth, lads, and show what’s in you.

                Strain and struggle, etc.


At Olympia, far away,

                When the victor wore the crown,

Breathing marble, burning lay

                Made immortal his renown.

What though Fate hath giv’n to Winder

No Praxiteles and Pindar,

Yet her s

ons, who bravely bear them,

Sedbergh in her heart shall wear them!

                Strain and struggle, etc.


Words: R St J Ainslie

Music: P A Thomas