The Ramblers' Outing - July 2011
An annual outing for the club,
That time of year for summer grub.
Among the trees that long have stood,
A barbecue in Abbotts Wood.

Cars disgorge their country wares
Of plastic plates and picnic chairs,
And hungry hikers tread the hill
To the sound of sizzling on the grill.

While on the path each walker strolls,
Helpers slave over red hot coals,
Envying those who are having fun
Ambling out in the morning sun.

Straight lay the sausages, often turned;
A deeper brown yet skin unburned.
Burgers too are striped and scarred
On metal rods expertly charred.

By the lake it's all serene
Here, no thoughts of margarine.
While tranquil waters take their course
Elsewhere, a search for HP sauce.

The tasty onions catch the breeze,
Wafting westwards through the trees,
To entice the ramblers back to eat
The seeded buns chock full of meat.

When food is served all goes quiet
As guilty thoughts forget the diet.
Tucking in it tastes divine,
Accompanied by that glass of wine.

Following on is 'chuck the boot',
A hikers' contest of great repute;
Keenly thrown with skill and guile,
Plus brute force and a touch of style.

Otherwise, a game of boules,
Like pitch and toss, with extra rules.
It was devised in southern France,
Renowned for its flat-footed stance.

But now it's time to douse the fire
And thank the charcoal burners for their hire.
Zealously working free of charge,
Bless the one who brought the marge.

Roger Lee

Up on the Downs - July 2011
Folk are walking
Fields are chalking
While crows are squawking
Up on the Downs.

Clouds are grumbling
Thunder rumbling
While bees are bumbling
Up on the Downs.

Cows are grazing
Sheep are lazing
While the eye is gazing
Over the Downs.

Birds are uttering
Wings are fluttering
While steps are stuttering
Up on the Downs.

Hills are cresting
Hikers resting
While birds are nesting
Up on the Downs.

Seeds are rooting
Stems are shooting
And berries fruiting
Up on the Downs.

Feet are striding
Insects hiding
While gulls are gliding
Over the Downs.

Sparrows perching
Golfers searching
While dogs are lurching
Up on the Downs.

Knees are aching
Thirst needs slaking
The sun is baking
Up on the Downs.

Tenants farming
Breeze so calming
The company charming
Up on the Downs.

Roger Lee

Out in all weathers
We're off walking tomorrow over the Downs.
The forecast is atrocious; they must think we're clowns.
But we're hardy souls, who love the fresh air,
Setting toe onto track, the wind in our hair.

So get out the back pack, check all the kit.
Clean mud off the boots, remove all the grit.
Dig out the waterproofs, haul out the cap.
Reconnoitre the route on a pathfinder map.

Butter a roll and rinse out the flask.
Leave a note by the kettle for the morning task.
Mustn't sleep in, set both alarm clocks.
Now where did I put those hiking socks?

Rain pounds at the windows during the night
And it's still looking grim at dawn's early light.
But after a shave, a shower then tea
The clouds begin lifting over the sea.

At the meeting point all spirits are high.
The first speck of blue appears in the sky.
Chattering aplenty while a head count is taken,
There are some drowsy eyes still to awaken.

Our leader reminds us this isn't a race,
But strides it out at a fairly brisk pace,
While a volunteer remains at the back
To make sure all the stragglers pick up the slack.

There's a gradual climb after a mile,
Then it's right by the hedge and over a stile.
Here progress is slow as we form a queue,
What an opportune moment to take in the view.

Long, rolling hills dotted with sheep,
Surround the Long Man close to Bo Peep.
Take the old coach road where once would be met.
Artists and writers of the Bloomsbury Set.

Stop by the tea rooms at the halfway mark,
Timed to perfection for it's turning quite dark.
A heavy downpour drives us inside,
Where a Victoria sponge is eagerly spied.

Well fed and watered, cross over the lane,
Stepping through puddles in the last of the rain.
A wary eye is kept on the ground,
To avoid any sliding or slipping around.

Stretches of mud appear up ahead,
Hiking sticks at the ready to steady the tread.
Into the meadow via the kissing gate,
Taking a breather while we congregate.

One final chance to drink in the scene,
Rape seed so yellow and fields of green.
Bad weather departed, sun warm on our backs,
Now strolling homeward down well trodden tracks.

Roger Lee

Sussex girls
I saw seven lovely sisters
Their features all aglow
I saw seven lovely sisters
Standing in a row.

I saw seven lovely sisters
Captured by the light
I saw seven lovely sisters
Each one a pretty sight.

I saw seven lovely sisters
Their heads all swathed in green
I saw seven lovely sisters
All peaceful and serene.

I saw seven lovely sisters
Standing on the shore
I saw seven lovely sisters
Each more gorgeous than before.

I saw seven lovely sisters
Their bodies clothed in chalk
I saw seven lovely sisters
On the South Downs coastal walk.

I saw seven lovely sisters
Staring out to sea
I saw seven lovely sisters
Waiting there for me.

I saw seven lovely sisters
It was a time to tarry
I took a picture of the group
Six Sussex girls and Barry.

Roger Lee

The Woodland Way
Barely do her footsteps on this morning make a sound,
As she saunters down the pathway along the well worn ground,
Ambling past the molehills that in the field abound,
To see the soil, smooth and flat, turned to a shallow mound.

Wild flowers grow unhindered close by the forest trees,
While butterflies dance freely around her sunburnt knees,
Fluttering on their random flight paths in the summer breeze,
Laying eggs, as they see fit, on whichever plant they please.

Alder, oak and hazel surrounding sturdy Highland pines,
Once planted by the woodsman in rough diagonal lines,
Begin to spread their branches as each one intertwines,
To yield a copious bounty on which the squirrel dines.

Uprooted trunks, felled by the storms, lay sprawled across the earth,
And make a space for tender seedlings that now assume their berth.
Nourished by the leafy compost to fatten up their girth,
They drink in rainfall, reaching skywards, for all that they are worth.

On a wooden footbridge she stops to view the lake,
And opens up her lunch box some refreshments to partake.
A scrumptious salad sandwich, then yoghurt with a cake;
Learning quickly, paddling shorewards, four ducklings and a drake.

Past the gate, it's thick with brambles snaking on the track.
Opposite is deep in nettles but there's no turning back.
Rather with her hiking stick she quickly starts to hack
And slash at prickly, stinging stems - she really has the knack.

This thrashing by the wayside does on this tranquil scene intrude,
And a blackbird, startled in the ferns, stops foraging for its food.
She swiftly flies back to the nest to protect her hungry brood,
Which leaves our rambler somewhat abashed and feeling quite subdued.

Dappled shade adorns the path as she walks beyond the bend,
Where a collared dove rests on the bough, its message here to send.
The sunlight sparkles on the leaves to see her spirits mend.
Now contented, strolling, all at ease, she's reached her journey's end.

Roger Lee